Anges en Angleterre
by GoxHaya
Summary: When France starts and online love advice site, he soon finds himself to be the savior for his most frequent client's love life. But as his life and King of Camelot's start to parallel, France wonders if there is more than what meets the eye. FrUK
1. Chocolate Mousse

Heya old fans and new readers alike! Here's a new one for ya! We've been hinting at it and here it is! Lovely lovely FrUK fun ;3 Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Neither Go-chan nor Haya own Hetalia, despite wishes of such a thing. This is completely for the heck of it and for no profits. There are no relations between real-life countries and APH charries x3

Rating: Come on. This is FrUK for fucks sake. There will be cursing. There will be sex. DUH.

R&R!

**

* * *

Chapter One: Chocolate Mousse **

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_I know this will be my… Ninth message, and for that I am sorry. But as I have explained my relationship with Roses requires a fair amount of questioning in and of itself. I need all the help I can get._

_I have tried to follow your advice and spend more time with him, but it doesn't appear to have any effect on our relationship. Rather we fight more during our time together because it has grown. It makes me even more wary of his true feelings now more than ever.'_

France sighed and rested his head in his hand. This poor man was so socially awkward. No one had written him so much so often before.

Several months ago he had been complaining of boredom to his boss. After all, both of his friends were hooked up now, so he couldn't play matchmaker as much anymore! And playing matchmaker was one of his favorite past times. His boss has a stroke of genius and the next thing France knew, he had a fully operational relationship advice webstie!

And yes, he expected starting a relationship advice website would keep him busy with blind people like King of Camelot, but this man was the worst or the worst. Although, he was so faithful and trusting, constantly writing to him for help, that France couldn't help but look forward to emails from the cutie. At first he was distressed over his feelings concerning two different men. Once he figured out where his heart truly lay, he began to stress over the relationship he had with the man, 'Roses.' But his worries over Roses were never ending. For some reason he was incapable of speaking to the man.

With another heavy sigh, France took a sip from his wine and looked back to his computer. But, before he could finish reading, there was a knock at the door. Who could that be? He shut his laptop and set his wine down as he got to his feet. More knocks sounded and then there was a thud, as if a body ran into the door.

"_Mon Dieu_!" France exclaimed, rushing to the door and opening it abruptly to let the form of a smaller blond fall onto him.

With his weight no longer supported by the sturdy door England stumbled into France and had to steady himself on the man's chest before he could straighten again with a glare up at him. "Bloody hell-? When'd you get there, Frog?"

"When did I?" France sighed and dragged England inside before any neighbors got curious. "I believe the proper question is, when did you get here? Or perhaps why."

"I've been here!" Angry at being touched by the Frenchman, England pulled away and glared ever more hatefully. "_You_ wouldn't open your bloody door," he pointed in accusation.

"_Je suis désolé_," the accused man replied sarcastically. "I didn't realize I am entitled to knowing when you're drunk on _my_ doorstep."

All the attitude got France was more heated glares from the intoxicated Brit on his way to the kitchen, delighted to therein find a bottle of opened wine that he could toss back and down in one gulp without a care. It was when he brought it back down that he held emotion again, a continued narrowed eyed look at his enemy with a directed dripping neck of the bottle. "What the hell's wrong with you anyway, wanker?" England hiccuped.

Normally, England's drunken antics amused France, especially when it meant some easy sex, but at the moment he was rather annoyed. He had been helping that poor soul King of Camelot and England just had to interrupt that. France sighed and eyed the empty wine bottle. That had been some good wine too...

"What's wrong with me? You're the one who barged in and just drank my wine."

"And what's wrong with that?" Volume to a feverish pitch, England shouted back. By now he was beginning to tear up in his usual emotional inebriated way. "I'm the fucking British Empire, I can do whatever I bloody well please!" And as if to prove that before he started sobbing like a child he came forward to press France into a wall in a rough kiss. And who was to complain? Assertive England really turned France on. Not to mention he tasted of the wine he just downed, not that god awful British piss he called ale. King of Camelot could wait.

France chuckled and wrapped his arms around the small of England's back to pull him closer as he pressed his tongue between those soft lips. Hungry for more and fueled now completely by his lustful need birthed from drunken anger, England grasped France's shirt ever tighter and allowed entrance into his mouth only with a nip to the man's lips, making him smirk.  
What a feisty mood he was in.

France lifted England to pull his legs around his waist. He could feel the great nation's erection pressing into him all too easily. Without breaking their connection of lips and tongues, he brought them to his room.

* * *

How many times over the centuries of their knowing each other did it take England to learn? He honestly wasn't even all that surprised when he woke up hungover, naked with the exception of his open shirt, beside France in the man's bed. That didn't make him any less ashamed of himself for doing it _again_. Whenever he got that drunk he'd end up in France's bed after a night of sex or America's couch following a shouting match.

He mentally slapped himself over and over as he slipped quietly out and dressed himself. The few times he was out of it enough to believe he was home he'd gone through the trouble of showering. But when he was fully aware the Brit didn't like staying any longer than he had to, thus his ability to leave quietly after each of their heated meets.

With the absence of the fiery little Brit to warm his bed, it didn't take long for France to awake. He groaned quietly and rolled onto his stomach, spreading his arms across his large bed to find it empty.

Figured.

Why couldn't England ever stay? It would be so nice to snuggle with him upon waking and then make him breakfast. But that would never do for England. Of course not. To that loveless little nation, France was nothing more than a quick shag to release drunken and sexual frustrations. Wasn't anything new though. Wasn't anything worth worrying over either. He had long accepted his fate after all.

France rolled out of bed and stretched with a loud yawn. Well he might as well finish that email. He pulled some boxers on and went to his desk.

'_How can I know once and for all where I stand? I don't know how much more I can take before I do something ridiculous that ruins this either way. Is that as pathetic as it sounds?_

_Sincerely, King of Camelot_'

France sighed and shook his head. This man was so sad. He seemed to be completely incapable of taking his number one piece of advice: talk about it. King of Camelot always returned with more problems than solutions and more upset than ever because he hadn't been able to talk it out with the man that was causing his heart so much stress.

So what else could France do but tell King of Camelot to try talking to his love, again. But this time he included a question of his own.

'_Do you have an instant messaging system? I feel you have more questions than_

_you're expressing. It will be much easier to talk with each other than over email._'

There. Done and sent. France leaned back in his chair and nodded. He would fix King of Camelot's problems eventually. For now he needed to fix his stomach's hunger problem.

Some time later with his stomach content and feeling refreshed, France found himself at his computer once more. He smiled at the sight of a new email and carried his laptop to his bed. Once comfortable he started reading.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_There's supposed to be a messaging system that is packaged with my email, but I've never used it..._

_Sincerely, King of __Camelot__._'

Even with such a small email he refused to break out of formal letter format. It was cute. France laughed and typed up a quick reply, telling him to log onto it and add him.

With some time the other apparently finally managed it when a request from KingofCamelot that in accepting was followed by the bing proclaiming a received instant message.

**KingofCamelot**: Did I finally get the bloody thing to work?

**FrenchCock**: Ahaha~ Yes, but it took you long enough _mon cher_.  
**FrenchCock**: Have you spoken with Roses yet?

A pregnant pause before, **KingofCamelot**: There wasn't much talking last time, no.

France snorted and couldn't help but laugh aloud. How was he not surprised?  
**FrenchCock**: Well what did happen? Don't telll me you had drunken sex.  
**FrenchCock**: Again.

**KingofCamelot**: Every time I drink.

**KingofCamelot**: It's either to him or Burgers, no matter what I do.

**KingofCamelot**: And it had been one of those weeks. I needed a drink

Lord this man...  
**FrenchCock**: I don't get what your brain process is. You have a bad week, get drunk, and then go cry or have sex?

And at that the defensive response was immediate, **KingofCamelot**: I do not run and bloody cry to him!

Following this was another pause. **KingofCamelot**: It just makes me think and feel too much.

**FrenchCock**: What does?

**KingofCamelot**: Alcohol.

**KingofCamelot**: After trying to spend time with him and not wring his neck.

**FrenchCock**: What is it that infuriates you so much?

He had opened the floodgates.

**KingofCamelot**: Everything.

**KingofCamelot**: He's always been there taunting me.

**KingofCamelot**: Throwing around his affections on everything with legs.

**KingofCamelot**: Arguing with me point by point.

**KingofCamelot**: Finding fault in everything I am for as long as I've known him since we were bloody children.

Oh this poor man. France sighed and lay his head back on his pillow. It seemed like there was nothing for King to like about him and yet he couldn't keep himself from running to him.

**FrenchCock**: You answer that so easily it makes me wonder what it is you _like_ about Roses.

The difficulty of that question was embodied well in the long pause.

**KingofCamelot**: Because he's always been there.

**KingofCamelot**: I suppose.

**KingofCamelot**: We fight a lot, but if it's anyone else he's right there to help.

**KingofCamelot**: And.

**KingofCamelot**: I don't know.

**KingofCamelot**: When it is just me.

**KingofCamelot**: I'm happy.

Well wasn't the answer obvious? France resisted the urge to facepalm, as America called it. This level of stupidity...

**FrenchCock**: Then why not spend more one on one time with him?

**FrenchCock**: When you aren't drunk.

**KingofCamelot**: He makes it into such a giant bloody endeavor.

**KingofCamelot**: And just pisses me off humiliating me.

**FrenchCock**: Well that just shows how important spending time with you is to him, doesn't it?

**KingofCamelot**: About as important as all of his other escapades it seems.

**FrenchCock**: Other escapades~?

**KingofCamelot**: The man has shagged more people than he has hairs on his head.

**FrenchCock**: Who said that spending time with you has to be sexual?

**FrenchCock**: I have a fuck friend that I would love to just cook for, but he never bothers to visit except to release his sexual frustrations.

**FrenchCock**: _C'est tragique_.

**KingofCamelot**: Arse of a man I'd say.

**FrenchCock**: His arse is rather delightful~

**KingofCamelot**: And you of all people are okay with that kind of relationship?

Oh damn he'd been called out. France smiled at his computer screen and jovially replied.

**FrenchCock**: I see no need forcing him into something he doesn't want~

**FrenchCock**: Someone perfect for me will come around some day. Maybe it will be him, maybe it will be someone else.

**FrenchCock**: But I'm content with my situation. Unlike you.

**FrenchCock**: Back to your problem. Just invite him over for dinner and _do not_ have sex. No matter how good it is.

**KingofCamelot**: Invite him over for a dinner of my cooking that he detests?

**FrenchCock**: If he detests it so much, I'm sure he will suggest he cooks instead.

A few moments pause, **KingofCamelot**: I could arrange something of that nature I suppose.

**FrenchCock**: Splendid!

**FrenchCock**: Though I would advise you wait a day or two. He might think you just want another round of sex.

**KingofCamelot**: Knowing him he'd just prefer that.

**FrenchCock**: You never know~

**KingofCamelot**: If you say so.

**FrenchCock**: I do!

**FrenchCock**: Anything else you want to talk about?

**KingofCamelot**: As I'm still recovering from a hangover, nothing comes to mind.

**FrenchCock**: Ahha okay. Just email me when you want to talk again~

**KingofCamelot**: I will.

**KingofCamelot**: Thank you for your assistance, Sir, as always.

France smiled and bid farewells, then signed off. If everything didn't work out with Roses, maybe he should give this cutie a go...

* * *

When he had gotten home the overpowering need for a cup of good British tea had been almost as great his sudden compulsion towards suicide. It had happened. Again. Drunk, he'd ended up at the bloody Frenchman's house and shagged him. Knowing him it may have been multiple times, but he honestly couldn't remember through the haze distilled beverages caused him. Nor did it become any clearer when he'd downed his third cup of ginger tea. But what other conjecture could he make when he'd found himself in a bed almost as familiar as his own?

"What?"

Stepping out of the shower with a towel around his waist England pouted in a half-hearted glare with his mumble at the look he'd received from his goblin friend sitting on his bed.

"If you feel so bad after a night of sex with the guy why do you drink in the first place knowing it's there you'll end up?" Arms crossed, the miniature man held England's gaze with his own, unamused to say the least.

"I'm allowed some beer and the like now and then. A man may drink in such doses every now and then without the offensive title of alcoholic." Rubbing his hair in the second towel England sighed.

Suddenly, with the sound of bells and tiny laughter the fabric left his hands. Nothing could be done before again the creature with a pointed hat comfortable on his mattress spoke up. "Don't change the subject.

"What do you want me to say?" Head aching, ass sore, and nerves fried, England was ready to start a shouting match and his fairy friends knew it.

With a sigh our goblin hopped down from his perch. "Humans can be so stupid."

"Stupid? What are you talking about? No, ugh, Lily give me back my towel!"

* * *

With what courage he could drum up in his veins England dialed France's number before he copped out after three days spent refraining from any sort of contact with the man. Already as he waited he began to rethink his decision.

Well that was strange. Who would be calling him? France looked up from his novel and stared at his phone curiously. Prussia and Spain weren't over, so it couldn't be Germany or Romano. He couldn't think of any reason for his boss to call either. Odd...

Curiously, he go to his feet and answered the phone with a jovial, "_Bonjour_?"

He actually jumped when a voice came up instead of the continued ring. Now that he actually had him England didn't know how to respond and naturally went towards the aggravated, "do you have to sound like a twit even over the phone?"

Well this was peculiar. "Oh _je suis désolé_, I did not realize who I was talking to. I'll be sure to answer in an un-twitty way next time you call."

"Do you not have a brain with which to _comprehend_ looking at the caller ID?" The Englishman snapped.

"Gilbert broke it." France shrugged and seated himself with a smirk. How long would it take for England to get to the reason he called? "I haven't gotten around to buying another."

"Do you not give a damn-" No, stop it Arthur. Catching himself, the island nation took a deep calming breath. There had been a purpose behind this call and here he was already arguing and getting off topic. "I later realised how expensive that wine must have been. Being such a bloody gourmet I reasoned the only way to be a gentleman and make it up to you would be to pay for a meal. Or maybe now a proper phone."

This was quite shocking. Since when did England take the time to care about any money he made France waste? He could have cared less when he broke France's bed. He cared even less when he wasted a good amounts worth of ingredients 'cooking.' So this turn of events was interesting...

"Oh? What type of meal are you thinking of?"

"If I'm treating it's usually proper to let you choose..."

"Hmmm I usually cook all my food," France said, hiding a snicker. It was so much fun being difficult with this drama queen. "So I don't have any favorite restaurants or the sorts."

"Bloody hell, git, I'm trying to be-" Breath, release. His blood pressure was steadily rising as the conversation continued. Damn England wanted to strangle the man on the other end. Sighing, he forced himself on. "If you're that adamant you can cook whatever you want and I will purchase everything."

Amazing! He actually came up with such a decision all on his own? France was sure he would have to suggest it himself. England did have some intelligence after all! "Oh that sounds splendid! Tonight? What would you like to eat?"

The response was a low mumble, "as long as it's not frogs or snails I can stomach it..."

"Well come up with what you want for dinner and we can go shopping when I get to your house, hm?"

They were talking with minimal shouting and name calling. This was a miracle, a true miracle. At his success England was suddenly bashful. He'd been so frightened of this and now it was near it's close with such promising results. "Just don't contaminate everything with your frog bacteria," he grumbled, unable to go so long without an insult. At least it meant he was feeling somewhat more comfortable again.

"I'll be sure to bring a mask to keep my germs to myself."

"Good... Be careful on your way." As much cordiality and compassion as he could muster in that parting, England then hurriedly hung up.

Cooking in England's kitchen was quite the task. So many items had dust on them. His stove had only one heater used, as shown by the burnt food surrounding it. It was a disaster, but France had fun making fun of England's kitchen while cleaning and eventually cooking.

On the other hand, England was thoroughly annoyed. It took everything in him to keep from stabbing the man misplacing his things everywhere. The small blond took out his frustrations by nagging at his guest as he put everything away in it's proper place. Unable to stand still with France there in his kitchen, England made himself a kettle of tea alongside the stranger to his home and watched the others work as he drank.

Not that France had something against England watching him, but it started to get annoying after a bit. As their salmon was simmering, he turned to the Brit with his hands on his hips. "If you're going to just sit there, you're getting a cooking lesson."

Blinking at such an announcement, England furrowed his thick brows. Could he not be happy with what he had? He'd bloody invited the man he hated into his home to cook him a meal! "I like my cooking just fine."

"But no one else does~" France cooed as he turned his attention back to the fish.

"They just don't have the palette for good English food!" He barked in defence.

France chuckled. "Isn't that a paradox?"

"My food _is_ delicious, no matter what you blokes say."

With the salmon finished, France turned his attention to their salad, laughing all the more. "And you have fairy friends as well."

They were on that again? Narrowing his eyes, England crossed his arms and growled. "Don't you dare start insulting my friends too."

"Oh forgive me, I forgot you're convinced they're real!" Really, this man was much too easy to bait.

"They are real, damn you!" Huffing in aggravation, England finished off his cup of tea in one angered swig. This is what he got for suggesting this whole endeavour. Spend more time with him his arse, the bastard just kept setting him off.

"Oh _mon cher_," France picked up their expertly made plates of food and made his way to the dining room. "I'd go slow on that tea. I could have sworn I saw some pixies spiking it."

"Lily wouldn't spike my tea." As if it was common sense and he was speaking to an ignorant child England sighed. Shaking his head, he went on to explain to his stupid uninformed friend. "Fairies only play such tricks on people that deserve it. If they mistreat nature or keep a dirty home. I pride myself in my neatness, she and her friends would never do something like that to me."

It had gotten to the ridiculous point that France saw no point in arguing. He pulled England's chair out for him, then set the plates down. Once seated himself, he watched the island nation with an amused smile. He always loved watching the uncultured man eat good food. Not that the watched enjoyed his audience.

Once he had taken his place, fidgeting all the while in reaction to being treated like some bloody bird, England prodded the food anxiously. As the host English style etiquette told him he was the one to begin first but that didn't make him feel any better. This was France. Perhaps he had thought of this beforehand and poisoned the food knowing England would be the one to take the first bite. Yet he had watched him prepare it and purchase everything…

Finally making up his mind, England sighed, took a deep breath, and placed a bit of the fish in his mouth. The green eyes that had been closed in preparation for death opened in a wide manner at the heavenly taste. Oh fuck it was delicious.

Those wide eyes of wonder were matched with a giant, amused smile from France. Every time. It was like England was living for the first time each time he ate real food. Satisfied with today's accomplishment, France took a bite from his own plate, an inkling of a frown tugging at his smile as he realized the salmon was a bit dry. At least his definition of dry was succulent and juicy to Arthur.

"What are you smiling about, git?" Damn he'd let himself show how good the food was. No, wait, not good! He'd shown his surprise at the awful taste. Yeah. He was only eating out of propriety. Glaring a little, England grumbled under his breath as he ate.

France rested his head in his hand to smile at the man across from him. "Just enjoying the sight of a barbarian tasting the civilized life."

Laughing at such a claim, the Brit pointed his fork in indictment. "Barbarian? You're the one with an elbow on the table, Frog. _Etiquette_ is from your language and yet you still have no manners?"

"Hm?" France looked down, then laughed before removing his elbow. "_Oh cheri_, forgive me~ I lose myself in your presence!" He winked and blew England a kiss, getting him a proper flush.

Looking to his meal England refrained from a shout of indignation and made himself mumble, "Shut your cakehole and eat."

With a chuckle and a smile, France obeyed silently and continued eating. His eyes, however, continued to watch the man across from him cheerfully.

Damn if this wasn't awkward as hell. Now England began to realize that when the two of them weren't bickering or plotting together, he didn't quite know how to act. What could they talk about? Because he certainly did _not_ want to let this anxious silence continue long with those blue eyes on him. But seriously, what was there? Did the two have anything in common at all besides being European nations?

The first thing that came to mind was an utter failure, as the default topic by any gentleman's standards. "At least it isn't raining for once." Yes, the weather. It was the best he could do!

"Indeed! You're especially horny when it's raining~" France chuckled and slowly cut a piece of his fish, suddenly very intent in it. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy my dinner."

"Ha! What a dilemma. Which is more important to the Frog, a shag or his food?"

"Well at this moment in time," he looked up and smiled. "Dinner. It's an interesting and new thing from you. I'm still getting over my shock."

"I'm entitled to some change same as you," ah wait now he'd started it. Mumbling in some pink cheeks England finished, "making halfway decent food..."

"Me? Halfway decent?" He scoffed and pointed to England's almost empty plate. "You sure ate it like it's spectacular."

His own scoff was given as England grinned. "I didn't eat much for fear of wasting perfectly good nutrition when I vomited your French horrors."

"Oh? The look of pure pleasure was just because you were hungry?"

"Naturally," he responded in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Then I guess you're nutritioned enough to not want desert?"

A pause. "... Dessert?"

"_Oui_ I made some before I came so it could cool in your fridge~" He smiled and stood, gathering their plates. "But I know Gilbert and Antonio enjoy my cooking."

"No!" Oh fuck. He couldn't look so desperate for a taste of this Frenchie's food! Biting the inside of his lip England recovered by looking away with arms crosses in a faint brow furrowed pout. "It would be impolite of me to not try something you made for me."

"Would it be?" Doing his best not to smile gleefully, France took their dishes to the kitchen. He returned with two bowls of strawberry chocolate mousse. "Sure you won't vomit my French horror?"

Was he drooling? England couldn't tell as he eyed those plates with eyes wide in anticipation. Damn this man and his delicious looking cuisine. "I should at least take a bite, so as to not be uncouth."

"Of course. I'll just make sure to put it back in the container to take to Gilbert and Antonio not to waste~" France set the bowl in front of England and stuck a spoon in it.

With his hand moving to plop the spoonful of heaven in his mouth hesitantly, England had pink cheeks. It was when his taste buds sent messages of frenzied joy to his brain that he flushed deeply and turned his face down to try and hide it. He failed. "Maybe I could eat a bit more..."

"_Oh non_!" France slowly made a move to take the bowl back. "I wouldn't want you to vomit."

"Fucking-! Fine it's bloody amazing," England shouted, bright red as he instinctively pulled the bowl away in an almost territorial manner.

Chuckling freely, France seated himself and smiled smugly. He didn't say anything, as it had been the whole dinner, but his eyes screamed victory.

Glaring, England pointed his spoon at the proud blond. "You shut it." Then he was back to happily eating the treat, hoping to God that his fringe made some headway at hiding his face as he looked down with a blush and fought back a smile, instead pouting deeply to overcompensate. When he finally dared to look away from his treat, France's face was directly in front of his and a kiss was planted on his pouting lips.

"They needed some attention," he explained, his breath on England for he remained close.

Following the second of surprise England glowered and reached up to take the romantic idiots nose between two of his fingers, utilising this hold to pull the corresponding face up and back. "It needed some attention," he mocked in releasing him.

"_Mon __Angleterre_! So mean!" France sighed dramatically and sat back in his chair. "All I want is a simple kiss and I get rejected! Am I no more than a sex toy?"

He just grinned at paying him back. "You are French," England said with a nonchalant shrug.

"And you are English~ Not surprising you need a toy to have sex."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly how it sounds~"

England glowered. Bastard! Now he was insinuating the Brit couldn't find his own shag? "Piss off."

"Want me to take the remaining mousse with me~?"

"Oh hell no. After your insult? It's all staying with me."

"_Naturally_."

France gathered their empty bowls and brought them to the sink where the rest of the dishes were. "This was nice," he said as he started washing them.

Only in his speaking had England followed his guest into the kitchen and therein seen his work. He was cleaning the dishes? England frowned. "Why are you cleaning up? I should be doing that."

"Well you're going to kick me out if I'm not doing something," the blond replied jovially.

And now he rose a brow in suspicion. "Kick you out if-? What?"

"Are you having hearing problems, _cher_?" France rolled his eyes as he started drying the plates. "If I'm not doing anything."

"I'm having comprehension problems." The man was thoroughly confused by his reasoning. Fine, France had taken him up on his offer and come over for dinner. The usual bickering had ensued and given him some sort of comfort zone in that level of familiarity. But this? A France staying and not nothing him? It was unheard of. The man appeared to distract from his needlework, poke fun at him. Never was he content to be doing nothing, to be doing his dishes without some sort of sabotage. Yet from where he stood he could not see any breaking or cracking of porcelain, any permanent dying.

With the dishes, France turned around and grabbed England's shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. "I'm enjoying your company."

Those sirens in that head of unruly sandy blond hair were going off just as they always did when England was with France, when they shared some level of intimacy. Yet the warning signals had a strange undertone to them today. They sounded a little less like fog horns, holding less painful volume. Why was that?

While he did not wrap his arms around his guest the Brit did not push him away either. The man just mumbled a, "bloody nutter," under his breath in glancing away. Fuck him and his kisses.

"You're absolutely right, I am rather crazy." Yet he leaned in and kissed him again.

Our little ball of fire could only take so much. After leaning in on that second kiss and returning it he caught himself just as he had begun to deepen it. Without pulling away much, just that hint to part their lips, he pinched one of the perverted hands surprisingly still on his shoulders and yet to roam.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Work?" France thought of his laptop and nuzzled the Brit as he thought. Could King of Camelot count as work? "I suppose."

"You suppose?" A scoff at that. Did the man ever do anything related to his job as a nation. Shifting away from his affectionate gesture England bashfully got in some more bullying in the form of pinching a French cheek. "Well I do. And it's about time I got started on it."

"So late?" Ignoring the pinching, France leaned in closer. "Isn't there something better to do?"

"You're right." Well if the cheek had no effect how about the ear? Taking the cartilage in hand England tugged the baggage towards the door. "Maybe I can get some reading in. It's better to read later in the day."

Since England wasn't taking a hint, as well as tugging on his ear, France pouted and asked, "I won't get any undrunken sex tonight?"

"No, no you won't. Too bad for you, huh sex toy?" Feeling a foreign sort of giddy confidence England had France outside the door when he released the captive ear. He grinned, crossing his arms. "You'll probably survive."

"Perhaps." He pulled England into him with an overpowering kiss, stealing all breath and thought from the Brit. As he pulled away, France smiled and ruffled England's hair, not waiting for a response before walking away. "_Merci_ for the splendid evening."

"… Well fuck you too. You better bugger off."

With the door closed and his back to it England mumbled this whilst he rubbed at his mouth both to wipe away the damned Frog germs as well as to hide the damned smile that betrayed him. What the _hell_ was wrong with him? Getting as silly as a school girl over the near absolute hit that was this meeting. No blood had been spilt. Blood or… Other bodily fluids. Now here he was fighting down giggles at such a triumph, angry at himself for such emotions.

"… _What_?"

Green eyes glared in a side glance at the group of creatures in the doorway to his right. Riding the tip of the unicorns nose the petite little fairy just grinned at her friend, holding her tiny chin in her hand. "That turned out well, eh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was just apologising for drinking his expensive alcohol," the man huffed, turning up his nose and crossing his arms over his chest haughtily.

"Hey, I just said it turned out well. You're the one that's reading into it." Giggling knowingly, she flew up and down the hall.

"Reading into it? What? Get back here! Explain yourself!"

* * *

There was only one way to describe the fluttering feeling in his heart. Who would have thought a simple dinner would reinforce the feelings France knew existed deep down. The sex was always nice. Not even nice, wonderful. England was always the best to have sex with, hate sex or not.

But a simple dinner. A simple dinner where they bickered only minimally. England had enjoyed his dinner. They hadn't had sex, but it may have been the best night of their relationship. It was almost a revelation for the country of love. And more than anything he wanted to spread his enjoyment of love!  
The blond made himself comfortable on his bed with laptop in hand. King of Camelot probably needed some assistance now.

_'Dear Dr. Love,_

_So it appears that your advice may have very well been in my best interest. I apologise for doubting you. As much as we bickered, I think I may have truly enjoyed myself. There was no sex, a bit of intimacy though. All the same it was... Nice._

_I'm left hesitant about what to do next at such a victory..._

_Sincerely, King of Camelot'_

_**End of Chapter One

* * *

**_

Woo! We got ourselves an FrUK goin', huh? ^^ Sister fic to our TaToaTL – finished ;o; - and LLL

So, um, yeah. Er… I'm not the best at ukes. Really. I tend to play them as single level stereotypes unlike my multi-level – or at least attempted multi-level – Ogre semes XD And Iggy here… Yeah. I haven't done him nearly as much as I have other characters, so bare with me. He probably is OOC now, but I _promise_ to learn as I go

Anyway, as Go I do translations. Haya is the Frenchie *hiiiiiss* so she has all that fun, and if there's an especially weird English term I throw in I will also be translating it for y'all xD

_Mon Dieu_! = My God!

_Je suis désolé_ = I'm sorry

wanker = to wank is to masturbate, so a sort of sexual deviant or something xD Basically just a little insulting word

_mon cher_ = my dear

shagged = to have sexed someone up

_C'est tragique_ = It is tragic

_Bonjour_ = Hello

git = bastard/idiot

blokes = guys

arse = ass (cookie for anyone that can name where, 'move yer bloomin' arse!' is from ;D)

_Mon __Angleterre_! = My England!

piss off = Eh, I guess kind of like, 'fuck you' as if to tell someone to go away… *shrug* :/ (Haya says, LOLZ who wouldn't know this?)

I'm sorry if you knew some of the English and feel offended that I thought you didn't -.- I've come to realize the things I think are common knowledge aren't. I say plasma globe and no one knows what I means when I assumed it was a normal term


	2. Brandy Snaps

Ellos luvs~! Sorry for the wait! Needed a break from the super writing. Thank you for all the reviews and great reception for our new story. Hope you continue to enjoy x3

**

* * *

Chapter Two: Brandy Snaps**

It seemed victory was contagious. France smiled like a fool while reading King of Camelot's latest email. This was wonderful! The elated blond logged onto his instant messaging system and let out a girlish squeal to see the man was online.

**FrenchCock**: Why _bonjour ami_! I am so happy for you~

**KingofCamelot**: Um.

**KingofCamelot**: Thank you...

**FrenchCock**: Did you make any plans?

**KingofCamelot**: No.

**KingofCamelot**: I haven't a clue how to follow that up.

**FrenchCock**: Spending yet more time together of course!

**KingofCamelot**: I know that.

**KingofCamelot**: But it was so brilliant the first time I'm completely lost.

**FrenchCock**: Try suggesting you want to do something to Roses. I'm sure he'll come up with something.

**KingofCamelot**: That will certainly be X-Rated.

**FrenchCock**: Specifically tell him you don't want to have sex.

**KingofCamelot**: Bloody hell that conversation will be...

**KingofCamelot**: Difficult.

**FrenchCock**: It's as simple as saying, "No sex _cheri_!"

**KingofCamelot**: To you...

**KingofCamelot**: But after listening to you it did turn out, so I suppose I should the second time as well.

France smiled and chuckled. So trusting! It was adorable.  
**FrenchCock**: Wonderful! You won't regret it!

**KingofCamelot**: I hope so.

**FrenchCock**: Of course~  
**FrenchCock**: Now keep me updated, _oui_?

**KingofCamelot**: I will.

**FrenchCock**: Good boy.  
**FrenchCock**: I'll be going for the night now.  
**FrenchCock**: _Bon nuit__ cheri_

**KingofCamelot**: Good night, Sir.

Smiling at his computer, France shut it and set it aside. The world was such a wonderful place! Oh now he was tempted to call England and ask him on a date for tomorrow...

But the silly Brit would come up with an excuse. Or he would be shocked into agreeing and then chicken out... With a heavy sigh, France rolled off his bed and went to his shower. How unfortunate.

* * *

Damn he could lose his spine sometimes. It was truly pathetic of an upright British man such as himself to get so utterly weak-kneed at some prospects. Why couldn't he just say what he wanted? With most things he had absolutely no issue. In speaking to his boss England held nothing back, same as with most people. Then stupid France came along and fucked up everything for him…

Three days came and went before England picked up that phone and dialed that number. His spine had been formed in all of the tension he'd felt over the course of those three days. It would probably shatter mid-conversation though.

"_Bonjou_-"

England didn't let him even begin to answer before he launched into his whirlwind of words. "I would like to conduct an experiment to see just how much of you I can stand before I lose my sanity so we should do something together like before but if you say sex I will personally castrate you."

The long silence that followed his outburst made England begin to doubt himself. He was about to ask if France was still there when light chuckles came from the other end.

France leaned against a wall to keep himself steady as he shook with laughter. How could such a stubborn man be so adorable? Wiping tears from his eyes, the blond smiled. "I would love to do something with you, _Angleterre_. How would you like a picnic and walk through Paris? You haven't seen my gorgeous city in a while."

Of course it would be something related to him. Under his breath England grumbled angrily at the man's self-centered ways. Yet England could not deny that he'd always been drawn to France's culture because of his own lack thereof…

"That could work…"

"Oh? Splendid!" France looked at his calendar and sang, "Saturday work~?"

"Ah, one-" Calling from his office, England leaned forward in his chair with the phone held by combined ear and elbow during his glance over of the desk calendar. "Yeah, Saturday is fine."

"Wonderful! Be at my house by noon?"

"Sure…"

"Oh wonderful!" France skipped to his kitchen and pulled out his recipe book. "Do you have any requests for lunch?"

Did he have to put him on the spot like that? It was rude to keep denying the responsibility for the meal. "Um. If it's a picnic something easy to eat. Like a finger food. Sandwiches or something..."

"Splendid idea _cheri_~" The smile that appeared on France's face from the beginning of the conversation had yet to fall. He flipped through his book dreamily as he cooed, "I'm glad you called, Arthur."

Oh of course he was. "You better be. I've got some work I need to be doing," the blond grumbled. Then he coughed and continued, "so I'll be seeing you on Saturday then."

"You will be," France purred.

"Oh shut up," the last grumble before the Brit ended the phone call.

France stared at his phone for some time before putting it back in the holster. England reached out to him. Twice. Surely the world was ending. Or perhaps it was finally on his side. Never would France have thought England would want to extend their relationship beyond fuckbuddies and rivals. Maybe he would even get some sober sex next! Giddily chuckling, the country of love went back to looking through his cookbook for the perfect picnic meal.

* * *

That Saturday morning England's head popped off his pillow with the same kind of feeling one gets before they take in their science fair project. On one hand you spent hours upon hours on the thing and you were incredibly proud of it, excited to finally get the thing turned in. On the other hand you were scared to death of how bad your grade _could_ possibly be despite your A on the last project because everything before that had been utter failures. The sort of mixture of feeling made the man twitchy as he prepared for the day that had finally come upon him. So it was sunny and nice and it may work out, in his mind the impending date was something like possible storm clouds in the distance. Had they just hit the eye of the storm or something? Some sort of calm midway through? But then what if he was wrong and ran into the storm cellar to later find out it was the prettiest day ever? Oh fuck it all. Just fuck everything. He couldn't even drink to get rid of his confusion for some short spans of time. All he could do was down a fair bit of tea before he headed out and appeared on the Frenchman's doorstep, fingering his jacket awkwardly.

The door opened within seconds of the bell ringing and France trotted out with a basket on his arm. "Right on time!" He laughed, linking arms with England and leading him down the driveway.

"Fucking-!" Really? Already doing this? Hissing, England pulled his arm away and dusted it off as if truly seeing miniscule French mites now occupying his sleeve. Only then could he _follow_ France, not walk hand in hand like a bloody film. "Of course I'm on time. I hate being late."

Completely ignoring the rejection, France put an arm around England's waist and pulled him close to kiss his cheek. "_Oui, je sais_~ That's why I made sure to have everything ready before noon so you wouldn't have to wait."

"Come off it already!" Pushing on the man's chest England leaned away from him as if he were some sort of an annoyingly affectionate puppy licking at his face with excessive amounts of slobber. "Damn I already want to punch you."

Was it impossible to share simple affections? France smiled at the feisty Brit and let him be for the time. So cruel yet so adorable. "If you punch me, you won't get lunch."

Damn France and his food. Ass was using it as a bargaining tool against him. Both from the change in subject and the halt in overt friendliness England did not further stray from France now, just huffed and gave him a sidelong glare. "It better be a brilliant meal then."

While France didn't reply, the smug smile on his face said the meal would be beyond England's expectations- which weren't high since anything (meaning everything) better than his own food was delicious.

They walked in a content silence to the metro and then into a gorgeous park grounds. Still keeping his mouth shut, France smiled and led his date down a path to a dock on a lake, where a small little row boat awaited them. Once seated and out on the water, France's smile grew as he finally spoke. "Welcome to _Bois de Vincennes_."

Curious green eyes turned about themselves to take in the scene. For one thing this was England we were talking about, the longtime seafarer, so anything on water got his seal of approval, and for another he noted that from what he could see the park he'd been taken to was done in his own 18th century style. These together made him smile as he looked around those first few moments upon arriving in the boat to soak everything in.

Then, however, the situation itself hit him. In a rowboat on a park's lake with France? If that wasn't the most cliché couples scene he'd ever heard of he didn't know what was! And there he sat playing the part of the woman that sat while the man rowed. Such treatment downright pissed him off and made him begin to reach for the oars. He was no bloody bird! Fine he was gay but he most certainly was not the homosexual that threw aside his manhood to be reduced to this!

But wait. What was wrong with him? Taking work from France of all people? What did he care if he did all of the rowing and got tired? That would be beautiful! Immediately he leaned back in his seat from the begun action for the oars. Let the arse do whatever he wanted.

"You're so amusing to watch," France said as England settled down. The man was a constant source of entertainment with inability to make up his mind and displaying the whole thought process on his face. Normally he only got to appreciate England's personality during meetings. France couldn't get over how nice this was.

They approached a little island and France jumped onto the shore to pull the boat out of the water. He picked up the picnic basket and held a hand out to England to help him out.

After France's statement about his facial expressions England, initially, growled and refused the offered hand. But in his holding his nose up confidently he failed to take his place into consideration. As the boat slipped a hint he yelped and clung to France's wrist to pull himself out. So much for being the sailor. He'd been too caught up in ignoring the invitation to act his normal cool self.

Something - no not something, France knew it was his heart that was swelling at the adorable little show of clumsiness from England. He missed so much of England's good side from the endless bickering and ignoring or each other.

Grinning like a fool, France pulled England to his feet and into him, giving him a joyous kiss. "You're too much," he cooed, letting go and escaping before he got hit.

Up the bank and down a small slope, France stopped below a large tree. He produced a large, sky blue blanket and spread it across the shady spot. The basket was placed in the middle of the sheet and France sat next to it, smiling up at England.

Smile returned with a scowl that remained slight blush worthy, England flopped down on the other side of the basket. He specifically kept his gaze off of France when he asked, "so what are we having?"

"We have some turkey sandwiches for our main course," France replied as he started taking out the food he prepared. "Fruit salad and bread and cheese for sides. We have some delectable wine to go with our cheese and desert-" He paused and closed the basket with a shining smile. "Well that is a surprise."

"What? What's a surprise?" Taken completely in the suspense of it England turned his head round from looking off without care to peer at the basket in questioning.

Chuckling, France poured their wine and placed the glasses atop the basket England was so curiously staring at. "It wouldn't be a surprise desert if I told you, now would it?"

Yeah and now he was adding wine to the equation. With great suspicion England eyed the glass. Depending on its nature the beverage could affect him greatly in just a few helpings...

"It's of mild alcoholic levels," France commented as he began placing their food on plates. "It wouldn't get _Feliciano_ drunk, even if he drank the whole bottle. You're safe_, cheri_."

Well in that case. England allowed a small smile. Alcohol without the adverse effects? Sign him up. He took the cup in hand and sipped, in doing so watching Francis' movements. So that's what he'd been grinning about before. It did look brilliant..

"Well help yourself, _cheri_."

"I'm getting to it," the man mumbled. He was enjoying his wine. Setting his beverage aside England brought one of the plates into his lap before bringing the sandwich up to his mouth. Sandwiches were sandwiches, right? You couldn't do much to make one very different from the other so surely-damn it all to hell even the bloody sandwich had it's own level of art to it in the flavour.

And France knew it. He took a small bite and smiled smugly. "Do you like it?"

"It's edible." England wasn't about to outright compliment him, even if he began to eat in the same way as he had on the dinner date prior. Like someone first fed something beyond bland bread.

"Try the fruit salad," France purred, pushing the bowl towards the man.

Fortunately fruit was fruit no matter what you did. It was of fine quality, but he liked buying nice things as well. Popping a grape in his mouth England savoured the taste. "Fortunate it's such a nice day," he commented, not even meaning to open up on weather as he had before. Simply as he stared at the sky England noted the pretty blue colour in comparison to the grey he was so used to.

"Isn't it?" Chuckling, France looked to the sky as well. "Good days are rare for you~"

"Calm is rare for you," smirking, England looked to him from the corner of his eye, "shouldn't you be rebelling about something right about now?"

"Shouldn't you be copying a new aspect of my culture by now?" France shot back.

"None of your rulers ever had issue with my culture when they were running from angry mobs and could have very well gone anywhere else."

Rather than letting his smile fall, it grew as France tapped his chin curiously. "Perhaps it was because we knew a certain little nation secretly loves us."

Could a face get any redder? Brows dip any lower? "Where in the hell would you get that idea?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe because that certain nation practically said it himself?"

"I do not recall saying anything of the sort!"

"If that's the story you're sticking to~"

"Belt up before you lose your second brain."

France's jaw dropped and eyes widened in disbelief. "_Mon Dieu_! I have two brains?"

In his anger England downed his wine. "A tiny thing in your head and the one in your dick."

"_Dieu_, my cock can think for itself?" This was quite the news! "This is a scientific discovery of no other."

Risen brow on England's face. "This should be common knowledge."

"Is it?" France reached over their food to tug on England's eyebrow. "Then these should be caterpillars, _oui_?"

"Woah!" Green eyes twitched and face contorted. Fuck if that didn't hurt like hell! "Bugger off bastard!" And damned if he couldn't pull away to cause even more pain.

"Would you look at that!" France let go and sat back in his spot. "They're glued on! That's animal abuse!"

"You abuse the ozone with your hair products I'm sure."

"Hair products?" France ran a hand through his hair and shot a dashing smile. "I am all natural _mon ami_~"

"Oh really? I was sure it was a toupee," the man scoffed, still tenderly massaging his offended English brows.

"_Non_~ Nothing fake could achieve this beauty." Chuckling, France finished the bit of wine in his glass and glanced to England's empty plate. "Would you like desert now?"

" ... If you'll shut up."

Lips sealed, France moved their wine glasses to pull out a tray a pastries. "I thought I would make a desert of yours. Brandy snaps seemed to be of your taste~"

Brandy snaps? He'd made brandy snaps? That was his! England's surprise was apparent on his face. "You made-?"

"With a twist!" Oh this was too cute. "I made them not only edible, but delicious as well."

There went his sparkle of wonder. Eyes narrowing, England glared. "They're delicious to begin with, git!"

"Ahha, _oui oui_." France set the tray in front of England and smiled at him.

Angrily the man took up the plate and bit off an end of the pastry, expecting it to be filled with some stupid French cream that ruined it all. Instead... As usual, it was amazing. Bloody arse of a man took his food and perfected it.

"_C'est bon_?"

"Of course it is." With a bratty grin England continued to nibble. "It's my recipe." Because honestly it was still a brandy snap. There was variance but that was natural. And even with that variance it was France that had made something of England's. Beneath his fringe the Brit smiled giddily.

"I know," he purred. Although making British cuisine was painful, it was quite worth it watching the delight on England's face.

Having gone without any good brandy snaps for a while our Englishman nibbled on it much like the rabbit he was known as. He didn't even bother asking if France was going to have any. Because they were all his. All England's to enjoy. Even if he would probably get sick and fat off of the large number.

His peaceful delight was short lived, naturally. France leaned forward to their faces were within inches and whispered, "You have the same face when I bring you to climax. To think just my cooking can do that."

His head should have felt a rush from the speed at which the blood pooled in his face. There he'd been feeling just short of a lovesick woman and France had to ruin it with sexual talk. To make matters worse it just made him think about their times together. So really it wasn't any fault of England's. France was all to blame. "Shut _up_!" The smaller blond yelled as he lunged the man to both shut him up and sedate some of his need when in getting him to the ground beneath him he kissed the Frenchman fiercely.

Well then.

France was all too happy to return the kiss with equaled vigor. He wrapped his arms around to Brit and pulled their bodies closer together as their tongues met. Hands fisted in those luscious French locks as England gave a moan of both continued anger and pleasure. In contrast to their usual fight for dominance with time England calmed himself and his tongue, letting it turn more languid in passion than harsh, which brought a low moan from France.

His hands traveled down that lithe body to cup England's irresistible ass and give the cheeks a light squeeze. At this treatment England jumped before he shuddered and took a two step retaliation plan. First, nip at his lip. Second, grind down into him slowly, lustily.

But there was not a reaction England expected. France sighed and sat up, pushing the horny Brit away. "_Angleterre_, as much as I would love to make love under the trees in the open air, I promised you no sex and I intend to keep my promise."

Blink. Blink. So called caterpillars were high in his brow in the shock. He hadn't even been thinking to that extent. Well, knowing him he hadn't been thinking at all and it could have gone that way, but it was supposed to just be a little snogging on the grass. But even if it did go over France was rejecting him? _France_?

A swirl of emotion reared its head in England's chest as he turned his head to eye the cause with a brow risen in suspicion. He cared enough about his wishes to pass up sex? France didn't care about _anything_ that much. Especially not England...

"Why would I want to do that?" With this scoff he rolled his eyes. "I just wanted you to shut it."

"Ah, splendid job at achieving that~"

France smiled in hopes of easing the tension in the air and pulled himself to his feet. "If we're done eating, would you like to see the rest of the park?"

"That could be arranged." Standing himself, England moved off of the blanket.

Basket in tow the two continued their 'date' through the park with relative ease. It proved to be an interesting sort of excursion as least. The park held quite a bit to see. In its northern a castle of French kings – thus naturally holding memories for both France and England alike – over the centuries. In other areas there was the hippodrome, something of entertainment to the British that always so enjoy races. And the velodrome that had hosted a few Olympics they could reminisce over together, the usual small bickering coming up about their athletes. From there it was to the fair sized zoo in the westernmost areas. Asian elephants and mouflons proved to be entertainment that had no way of causing an argument between the two nations, leaving them calm as they left it.

Walking through the streets of Paris, France watched his date with a bright smile. The silence was nice, but he felt it was time to initiate conversation again. "Enjoying Paris?"

After going so long in a comfortable sort of quiet England blinked and turned to meet France's gaze, having been intent on everything going on around them. "Hm? Yeah." Er, no, wait. "I mean, about as much as I can enjoy one of your cities," with a turn of his head and small furrowing of the brows. It was a short lived expression though, soon replaced with a sort of playful grin. "If I were to like any of them it would be Lyon. It was such fun spreading rumors and such in the _traboules_ and walking through them."

A giant smile spread across France's face. To think England held such fond memories about his past and spending time with him. He thought the Brit had blocked out all the good times! Wrapping an arm around England's shoulders, France nuzzled his cheek as he chuckled. "We can go to Lyon next week if you like."

Grins and smiles could be considered a dying breed on England's face when France was involved. The moment they were born they fell. He growled and elbowed him feebly, looking away again. "Who said there'd be a next week?"

"Oh?" France laughed and kept close to his assaulter. "Then the week after next?"

"I'll think-Hey, when did I say this would me an experiment with multiple trials?"

"Well I would say the experiment was this date and it went wonderful~" France nuzzled his Brit again as he continued talking. "Thus continuing wouldn't be experimentation, but rather a logical next step."

Scowling, said Englishman thus continued digging his elbow into the other's ribs. "Where is the logic in that?"

"Because we're obviously not making a mistake!"

"Oh?"

"You are enjoying yourself, _non_?"

That faint pink hue in his cheeks with a haughty refusal to meet his gaze. "It's been tolerable."

France pouted and pinched a cheek teasingly. "Only?"

"Fuck yo-Twat!" Hands pushed his attacker away roughly so England could viciously rub his offended cheek with his sleeve. "The park was nice, I'll give you that!"

"I'm glad you thought so," France purred, bringing them to a halt in front of the metro entrance. "This is where we part, unless you would like to come home with me."

Here England crossed his arms and rose a brow at him. "Says the one that denied me earlier." But he didn't want to get back onto that when he was still unsure how to feel about it. With a sigh the shorter blond nodded. "Thank you for accompanying me, and for the meal."

"Anything for you, _amour_~" France pulled England into a parting kiss and squeeze of the ass before walking off with a skip in his step.

"You _better_ fucking-!" Just as a mother and child passed England caught the curse in his throat and let it simmer there with the heat of the kiss. Releasing a sigh the man shook his head... Then watched France's back with a side glance.

When he left for home England was wearing a small smile of victory.

* * *

France arrived home smiling brightly. He wished there was someone to share his delight with. Spain wouldn't understand. He always knew Romano loved him, even if he never showed it. Prussia was an idiot that couldn't understand the troubles of wanting love. Both would find it ludicrous that _France_ of all people wanted a monogamous relationship...

But there was someone he could talk to. France sat himself at his desk and opened his laptop.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_Surely God is playing some awful trick on me by letting things go so well _

_twice in a row… Lightening shouldn't strike the same place twice._

_ And yet here I am smiling like a bloody idiot._

_ Sincerely, King of Camelot_'

**End of Chapter Two

* * *

**

Second one down! Oh GOD I'm still nervous about my Iggy… Which reminds me. Before I learned it was from _Igirisu_ I looked it up and found that Iggy is actually an English name that's short for the Latin Ignatius which means 'fiery one.' XD Funny how that works, huh?

Anyway!

_Bon nuit__ cheri_ = Good night dear

_Oui, je sais_ = Yes, I know

_C'est bon_? = Is it good?

snog = make out

Okay, now for some of the historical things~ *is a history geek*

First, their banter back and forth. It's a long running joke among any historian and most French people themselves that there really isn't calm for long for them xD You have the French Revolution. And July Revolution. And just… Guh. The French are constantly revolting. They're never happy. When this is going on their royalty likes to run to England for some reason. It's strange to me. But whatever floats your boat, Frenchies!

_Traboules_ are really very interesting. It comes from a Latin word for 'to cross.' Basically in the older parts of this city Lyon there are a bunch of covered passageways and courtyards and things between buildings. They were pretty much shortcuts to the river and also acted as transport routes for silk traders. One of my favorite images is of France hiding in them in the occupation of France during WWII and annoying Germany popping out everywhere because historically French rebels would hide in them and stuff. These things are like a freaking maze, if you're not a local you get lost easily, so they were a good way to get around the Germans. I also like to think these are the alleys you see France and England in when they're spreading rumors about Germany in the one episode.


	3. American Chili of Death

Heehee. Quick update this time! Umm wow I don't have much to say! Hope you guys are enjoying your spring break if you're on it, enjoyed it if you already had it, and will enjoy it if it's coming in the future. Granted you'll be hearing from us again soon~ R&R

**

* * *

Chapter Three: American Chili of Death**

France woke the next morning anxious and excited. King of Camelot hadn't been online to talk through instant messaging the night before, so he had replied to the email and reluctantly gone to sleep with the hopes he would be online the next day. And how he wanted to talk to this silly man. It was ridiculous, really. He found himself feeling like a giddy school girl when he helped the hopeless guy.

Perhaps he would start to take his playful thoughts of pursuing King of Camelot seriously if things didn't work out with England.

Ah, but that was thoughts for the future. The England lover in him kicked himself mentally for thinking such things. He had to make things work out on his end first if he was going to get anywhere with that stubborn Brit; which meant not thinking about other men. Such a task!

Chuckling to himself, France gleefully opened his laptop and logged onto his instant messaging system. A squeal of delight almost erupted from him at the sight of King of Camelot online. Goodness he was getting pathetic.

**FrenchCock: **_Cheri_! Congratulations!

**KingofCamelot:** Heh. Thank you.

**KingofCamelot:** It was thanks to you.

**FrenchCock: **Oh please, you're making me blush~

**FrenchCock:** Have you figured out your feelings now?

The pause that followed was so long France had begun to type a question of whether or not the other was still there when finally after five minutes the reply came.

**KingofCamelot:** I'm not sure.

Of course not. France sighed and shook his head. Really, how hard was it to understand oneself?

Obviously it was too difficult for the English.

**FrenchCock**: What is there to be uncertain of?

**KingofCamelot:** I don't know.

**KingofCamelot:** There's still a lot of confusion.

**FrenchCock: **Are you going to elaborate more?

**KingofCamelot:** If I'm falling for him this much I don't know how I will deal with it if things turn out as they have before. Me alone and angry at the world.

**FrenchCock:** Well obviously things won't work out if you go in with that attitude!

**FrenchCock:** What is it you are most insecure about?

Another pause. 

**KingofCamelot:** Being good enough.

**KingofCamelot:** Enough that he won't be unsatisfied with me as he was before. Enough that he may actually care for me and want to be together for more than the sex.

**FrenchCock:** Well did you specific not to have sex on your past date?

**FrenchCock:** And did he honor those wishes?

**KingofCamelot:** He did...

**KingofCamelot:** It caught me off guard.

**FrenchCock:** Well what's the problem?

**KingofCamelot:** He's never given a damn before!

**FrenchCock:** Have you seriously asked this of him before?

Apparently he had to dig through his memory before he faced a reluctant, **KingofCamelot:** I can't recall ever asking, no.

**FrenchCock:** Well there's your answer

**FrenchCock:** Obviously he has never seen a reason to refrain from sex before. He realized how important it was to you and backed off. Doesn't that say enough?

**KingofCamelot:** I suppose it does...

**FrenchCock:** Why the hesitation then?

**KingofCamelot:** I don't know!

**KingofCamelot:** No amount of logic makes me any less frightened. As bloody cliché as it is, I'm learning the difference between heart and mind.

Oh this was just downright adorable. France wished he could see King's face right now. He was probably blushing and fidgeting as he tried to form his thoughts into words!

**FrenchCock:** Well perhaps if you just spend a relaxed day together without any plans, as if you were a couple living together, you might be able to come to a better understanding.

**KingofCamelot:** That

**KingofCamelot: **May make some headway...

**FrenchCock:** Perhaps spend time at your house so you have the upper hand in the situation.

**KingofCamelot:** That would probably make me feel a tad better.

**FrenchCock:** So what are you waiting for~? Ask him!

**KingofCamelot:** I need to think of an excuse.

**KingofCamelot:** Besides, I have a fair number of meetings this week. Bugger can wait a few days.

**FrenchCock:** An excuse?

**FrenchCock:** -laughs-

**FrenchCock:** Is it so taboo to admit you want to spend time with him?

**KingofCamelot:** Bastard wouldn't give me a moment of peace if I did!

**KingofCamelot:** His head is big enough as it is.

Oh how he had to resist making a sexual joke. King definitely did not seem like the type to appreciate it. Snickering to himself, France replied seriously.

**FrenchCock:** If that's the best action, then by far do so. Keep me updated, as always.

**KingofCamelot:** Goes without saying.

**KingofCamelot:** Now if you'll excuse me, I have more work to be done.

**KingofCamelot:** Thank you for the talk.

**FrenchCock:** You're welcome~

**FrenchCock:** Good luck with your work

**KingofCamelot:** Same to you

**FrenchCock:** _Merci_. Look forward to talking to you again~

Sighing contently, France closed his laptop and smiled. Roses was such a lucky man.

* * *

"When are you going to call him?"

Green eyes turned from the heating kettle atop the stove to a set of three fairies that lined the counter opposite England. The whole lot appeared rather… Exasperated with him. The speaker was Violet, sitting at their center with an especially tiredly annoyed expression.

England looked back to his tea, giving a huff and rising of his chin in the air. "I already said he can wait. I've been busy, haven't I?"

"It's been a week and a half. You've had two free days since then. And another one tomorrow," Lily gave.

"You're avoiding having to go through with it," Rose deadpanned, causing their human friend to visibly twitch at such an accusation. It was obviously true.

Cheeks puffed a hint and eyes turned downward, giving him that greatly childish appearance he so hated. "I'll get around to it eventually…"

"What are you so afraid of?" All at once Violet was beside his ear, yelling into it before tugging the skin harshly. For her size the girl packed a punch. In her pulling England was forced to one side a step or two. It was enough to get the truth out of him.

"Third time's the charm! It's going to turn out wrong and I know it! At some point it has to give somewhere. That point is now and there's only two ways it can give! Both scare me half to death."

Following said outburst there was a bout of silence… Before three pairs of eyes rolled in utter aggravation. "That's _it_!" Between Lily and Rose the kitchen phone was suddenly pulled from its cradle and France's number dialed.

He didn't know his eyes could get that large. England scrambled for the telephone. "What the fuck are you doing?"

But it was too late. France picked up and his voice came out of the speaker. "_Bonjour_?"

Color drained from England's face at the speed of light. The silence was took all oxygen from his lungs and all compassion from his eyes that glared darkly at his winged friends. When they just grinned at him he allowed himself a breath. "What did I say about answering in an un-twitty way, git?"

"Twitty way being my language, I presume?" France asked with a small chuckle. "Must you complain when you're the one that called?"

"It-It was just a mis-dial…"

"Oh?" There was obvious disappointment in the man's voice. "You sure?"

Heart sinking in his chest cavity, England bit his bottom lip harshly in self-punishment and groaned. Okay, that was pretty awful of him... What's worse, he was feeling bad for being mean to France... Damn he was in deep. Deep enough that before he could think it through he took a deep breath and rattled off a string of words. "But since I have you maybe tomorrow you could help me with something. Not as a date just some down time at my home because I've been so busy but I would like to give something a go and no it's _not_ sex Frog but I'd still appreciate it if you came over because..." Oh fuck he couldn't stop himself. It came out in a small voice at the end. "Because I want to spend time with you."

It was England's turn to question if he had been heard. France was dead silent, frozen in pure shock. Finally he said in an unsteady voice, "Can you repeat that? The last bit?"

What was that phrase America loved to use so much? FML? Right. Fuck my life. England had to hand it to the lad, it certainly suited a situation like this. Still, there was no turning back now. He was so far, England couldn't turn back now... Nor did he want to. He needed to go out on a limb here and probe the reaction for meaning.

"Are you daft? I said I want to spend time with a bloody frog, alright?"

"Is the world ending?" France asked incredulously.

"Oh come off it! Are you coming or not?"

"Absolutely!"

"It's not a date so it doesn't really matter what time... Just so long as it's not some ungodly hour."

"Of course!" France laughed and smiled brightly. "I'm delighted you asked, Arthur."

In the complete absence of an emotional response England had chugged on in their conversation, unsure of how to elicit what he was looking for and too cautious to try when the first attempt had been such a failure... But could he possibly read into those words? In an English mumble, "I bet you are."

The harsh whistle of his kettle broke through the shroud that had enveloped the two in their talking and made England jump, nearly dropping the phone. "Be careful on your way then, Francis!" Before he hung up to catch his tea, on pure instinct responding in turn with the others name instead of his usual insult.

"Oh I will, can't wait to see you _cheri_."

"Yeah yeah. Bye!" Then the click.

France appeared at England's house at a respectable hour. Not too early in the day. Not too late. It was perfect, at least he hoped. What if England wanted him sooner? Or later?

Sighing, he rang the bell and ran a hand through his hair. He had been excited England wanted to spend time with him, but he was worried what would happen. Hopefully England wouldn't kick him out.

"If you don't get away from that door this instant-!"

When he appeared at the door England was still panting a little. Of course the whole lot of his friends would have been gathered around the front door to watch this thing go down. It was a bit of work shoving aside a unicorn and various gnomes. "Hey," he greeted France, managing a faint smile. "Was wondering when the frog would show it's face."

France was a few steps back from the door with raised brows. "Pray tell why you didn't want me by the door."

That earned him a few blinks from an Englishman that was slowly calming now. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't speaking to you."

Trimmed brows rose as France stepped inside. "Oh? Who were you talking to?"

"A few friends," the Brit mumbled in a glare at so-called friends grinning at him from around a corner as he closed the door.

Looking around, France smirked. "Oh? Where's these friends?"

"-!" No, he wasn't giving into that. "Which would you rather have, a lesson on mythical creatures or helping me cook?"

"_Mon Dieu_ you're trying to cook?" France grabbed England's hand and rushed him to the kitchen. "You haven't started, have you? There might be a nuclear explosion."

"What are you on about?" Glowering, when they came to a stop England pulled his hand away to cross his arms. "I'm not awful enough to cause damage to my own kitchen."

"Are you so sure?" He asked in disbelief.

"Would I even _have_ an intact kitchen if I was as horrible of a cook as you believe me to be?"

"Well I'm sure you only go in here once a month or so," he chuckled.

"Once a-! I make tea at least twice a day!" Huffing, England glared at this Frenchman before him. "Are we going to stand around arguing or what?"

"Oh, _je suis désolé_~" He looked around for the source of food. "What are we making?"

Beginning to speak, England paused before he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Alfred bet me I couldn't make something they cook over at his place. I wanted to see if your so called expertise could make the damn stuff edible in the same go at it. So. I'll still do it, but have you as an assistant."

France chuckled and rested his chin on England's shoulder. "Well then, this sounds like quite the challenge."

Keeping still under the Frenchman's weight was obviously a chore for England. The man flushed and twitched under the initial contact, but other than that he stood strong. In a grimace he produced the folded paper from his pocket. "Ready to make chili?"

"American chili? Sounds nasty, challenge accepted."

"Oh I'm sure."

Between the two of them it was hard work making the dish. Both European nations simply could not comprehend mixing all of the ingredients into such a greasy and disgusting looking mess. Just the smell made one feel they ought to be out on a jog burning off the pounds it birthed onto their bodies. But they made it all the same, together. Once they set their minds to it and they learned to let a few things slip it turned into what always happens when they worked together: a show of true partnership. Not even talking at all and working side by side, or chatting back and forth while their hands moved. It was an invigorating sort of success.

But the triumph ended there.

He'd said that he would make it, and that he would eat a whole bowl. But just the first spoonful made the Brit want to vomit. "Jesus Christ this is awful."

France covered his mouth and forced himself to swallow the first bite. He gagged and took a deep breath. "America does not have to know."

"But I would know!" Glaring fiercely at his foe that was this mass of brown blob England dipped his spoon in once more. "My pride as gentleman would not last under such lies." But with the twitch and almost tear in his eye when he brought it to his mouth he began to question his the worth of his stature… Then forced himself to shovel the rest down so within moments he could place his face on the cool wood of his table and let out a pained moan. "I beat you, you bloody monster… Consider yourself defeated… Urgh."

Oh. He wasn't going down. France sighed and grabbed the bowl, gulping down the chunky shit. His stomach was doing flips within seconds. Lord this was torture. He finished and struggled to stay upright and stare at England smugly. "I can handle it just as well as you can." But damn this poison was fast acting.

"Shut up," came in muffled sounds.

Once he was almost sure of his health and continued life England stood and started to turn back to the kitchen. "I'm going to dump that rubbish down the-" And the groan of an incredibly angered European stomach he stopped and held his middle. "Fuck it. I just want to lie down…"

But France was still here. And damned if England wasn't about to let some stupid American cooking keep him from his plan. "I can put a DVD in," he offered with a small laugh, "I'm not about to let you leave when I could very well watch you suffer with me."

"Or shorten our time together?" France added weakly. He didn't allow England to reply as he stood and pulled him into his arms. "Let's just go lie on the couch, watch some good television, and wish we could die."

Whether it was because he didn't have the will to fight due to the God awful meal or that he didn't want to, England leaned into the embrace and pressed his head into the welcomingly warm, broad chest. "Scratch the last. I'm already there."

"I sure hope you aren't dead. Necrophilia isn't attractive at all." He would have laughed at his joke, but with his stomach didn't want to chance it. Cringing, France led them to the couch and pulled England down with him with a pained sigh. "Damn our competitiveness."

"Not my fault you're so fun to beat," England gave in a grumbled reply as he clung to him. When he felt like utter shit he threw pride to the wind. So, there he sat, pitifully curling into his rival on his couch.

"How are we supposed to watch something, now?" Said rival asked with a laugh.

One eye opened to glare up at him, tired. Stretching, England reached across France to just barely grasp the tip of his remote. Normally he would laugh at such pathetic actions, but now he was all too happy to just turn on the TV and flip through the channels until he came to a rerun of one of his sitcoms. "Like this." He set aside the control and made himself comfortable again.

France watched lazily, then snorted. "Is this that Doctor Who you're so proud of?"

"What are you getting at?" In a snap. One did _not_ talk badly about England's television shows. Rule one.

"Oh, nothing~" He replied with a lazy laugh and snuggle.

As he nuzzled into his heated stuffed animal England mumbled, "thought so."

"We should make Alfred eat some of your food as revenge," France announced after several minutes of silence, save the TV.

"Make him eat your frog legs. Even worse."

"If you want to live in that delusion, I won't-" His stomach churned and suddenly having his mouth opened didn't seem like a good idea. The blond whined and nuzzled into England. This was dreadful.

England looked up at France. Then sighed. "Do you want some tea? It could help."

"_Non_!" France hugged England closer with a playful smile. "I wouldn't be able to survive through this without you in my arms."

"Bloody drama queen." Even with such words England found himself giving a soft smile when he closed his eyes and cuddled into France's embrace. With the exception of the whole civil war going on in his insides, this was a pretty nice way to spend his time.

France sat them up a tad so they could watch the TV easier and stared at the eccentric man flouncing around in a fez and bowtie. He smiled to England and asked, "So explain this Doctor show thing to me."

"Mm." Raising one hand England pointed at the screen. "That, that's the Doctor. He's a Time Lord. With his TARDIS - that's the police box - he travels around through different time periods and worlds and has his various adventures. It's the longest running science fiction show and one of the most successful. Has a bloody cult around here."

That brought a low laugh. "Not surprising. You and your cults."

"Shut it." He should have known what he'd started, honestly, asking England about this show that had run for decades. An entire plot summary was in store for France. "And those are the Weeping Angels. They're frightening, because when no one's looking straight at them…"

Launching into his tirade tired the already exhausted and frankly ill England. The man could only get through the Weeping Angels and halfway through Daleks by the time he and his Frenchman dozed off in each other's arms before the TV. Sleeping in those arms, knowingly, for the first time in so many years, England felt a sort of peace. When he was a child he'd secretly loved when France visited if only because that meant he had someone to snuggle with in his sleep, owning a body that, between all of the rain and chill of his land, was heat-seeking in slumber. And damned if France wasn't a warm mass to cling to. When he was alone he always felt a little cold, a little chilled. With this big ass England felt a pleasant warmth.

Maybe… Maybe it was because he was that much more _complete_ in those arms…

When England awoke he found his lips had pulled into a contented smile. Normally he wasn't one to nap, but that was an awful nice example of one to reconsider his dislike of them. Perhaps he could stand a little bit more. Yet, when he burrowed his face into the slowly rising chest to which he was attached he noticed the TV was still on, and could not fall asleep to it again. When he opened his eyes for the action of retrieving the remote control he saw them.

Lying on their stomachs gnomes and fairies alike lined his coffee table, watching him. At either end were a unicorn and a wizard. All of them were giving him the biggest, most haughty smirks.

"B-Bloody hell-?" The Brit tightened his hold on France in his yelp, shifting away from the group in his shock. "How long have you lot been there?"

Stroking his beard, the elderly man with his pointed hat cooed, "long enough."

"Mighty cute," came a low chuckle.

Flushing, England kicked at them lightly, trying to shoo them all off. "G-Get away!"

The noises and movement made France stir. He grumbled and pulled England closer, eyes peeking open ever so slightly. When they fell on the hazy image of magical creatures, he groaned and buried his face in England's hair. He was obviously still asleep. "Are you talking in your sleep?" He asked in a groggy voice.

In a flicking of the spellcaster's fingers everyone but the two nations were gone around a corner to watch from a safe distance. And once they had gotten a good glare from England he too turned his gaze to France. Sighing, he shook his head, still rattled. "Sure, I'm talking in my sleep."

Chuckling sleepily, France breathed in England's scent and sighed contently. This was so perfect. Perhaps he had never been so happy before. Who knew this was what he was missing in his life?

Without even thinking, the Frenchman kissed England's forehead and closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep, as he said, "I love you."

Suddenly all of his precious warmth was gone.

England was cold again.

Third time's the charm, huh?

Heart producing more pain and discomfort than his stomach now, England shoved himself out of those arms to stand. Shaking with anger he spoke, "get out of my house, now."

Wait. Wait. What? France couldn't even allow his brain to process what was going on. He slowly sat up, staring at England in pure confusion. "Excuse me, _quoi_?"

"I said get the _fuck_ out of my damn house!" Standing there in his living room his small body was a raging ball of anger and hatred. "I don't want to hear any of that shit from _you_," England spat.

Now that woke him up.

France got to his feet, burning with his own fury. How _dare_ this fool call his feelings shit! How _dare_ he get mad when France opened up to him. And here he thought they were making progress! Obviously not. England was still a self-centered _brat_ that could not accept anything outside of his small mind. This- France could barely even form words in response as his vision filled with red and he began to tremble with rage.

"Any of that shit?" He growled through clenched teeth. Now that he had started, suddenly there were plenty of ways to express what was going through his mind. "Well, you pompous _ass_, I will gladly inform you that you never again have to listen to the _merde_ that is my feelings for you. Because I can assure you I will eradicate every ounce of this _shit_, as you so kindly call it, and find someone else to make me happy. It sure as hell will make my life much easier."

He didn't wait for a response. He didn't wait to see the broken look on England's face when he realized what a fucking big mistake he just made. France didn't want to forgive this loveless idiot. He turned on his heels and stomped out the door.

But in all reality he didn't want England to see his broken expression. Each word drove a stake into his heart and made him want to take each one back. But he couldn't. England needed to learn one way or another. Even if it meant hurting them both.

Or had he just messed everything up?

And as he stood there, trembling, the nation that had always been the opposite but oh so similar wondered the same thing. England remained frozen in his spot save his shaking for a while after France had left. Then, in a gush of emotion, he couldn't keep a hold of himself anymore, and he slowly slid to his knees.

"See if I care. Bloody frog. I… I never wanted your fucking feelings in the first place."

Each word was a strangled sob before he finally broke into tears.

He'd finally learned what he was to France.

And by then he'd already lost that place in his heart.

* * *

France fell into routine over the next few days. He couldn't allow himself to think of England and desperately buried himself in his work. He cooked too much to eat and his fridge became too full. His friends were busy and remained oblivious of his relations - or former relations - with a certain island nation. It all hurt so much. Perhaps that was why he had spent his entire life with everyone yet committed to no one. He had never wanted to risk the hurt. The pain that would come with opening his heart completely with someone else.

Sex was pleasure. It could mimic love. Several times he had believed he had been in love. He thought he had been in love with the ferocious and brave Jeanne d'Arc. She died and he had continued on with a sore heart, but eventually it healed. He had thought he had been in love with both of his friends at points in his life. But nothing compared to England. Nothing compared to the gaping hole in his chest. And it hurt so much.

He had considered calling for a whore to fill his thoughts and bed, but something in him remained loyal to England despite his heartbreak. Something in him remained hopeful that all this pain was worth it. That England truly did love him back and this was all part of the grander scheme of things in getting them together.

But it was so hard to believe that when he couldn't complete a single task without England on his mind and the pain would consume him. How could love be so harmful?

France stayed away from his computer for several days. He was terrified to get an email from King of Camelot and learn of the wonderful progress he made with his Roses. It was petty and selfish, but he would be so jealous. So jealous of this idiot's happiness while the country of love was wallowing in depression.

But his conscience got the better of him. What if things had screwed up for King of Camelot as well? What if he needed more advice? He couldn't leave the poor man alone in the confusing world of love just because his own heart was broken. So France forced himself to open his laptop.

The time stamp on the most recent and unread email from King of Camelot read 8:30 of just that very morning.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_I think I've finally come to comprehend what I am, was, to Roses. But after the best day of my life I decided to screw everything up for myself, for him._

_I really am a loveless idiot._

_ Sincerely, King of Camelot_'

**End of Chapter Three

* * *

**

Chapter 1. Fluff. Chapter 2. Fluff. Chapter 3. SLAP YOU IN THE FACE ANGST.

Seriously guys, you thought it could be cute for that long without some issues? This is FrUK!

Ahaha. The chili came about 'cause when we were rping this a while back my family had decided to make chili. My stomach threw a fit for a week. Ugh. It tastes good, but my insides hate anything hugely greasy xP Someone mentioned I have a wimpy European stomach and there you go! AeA chapter about a food a Texan like me should love.

_je suis désolé_ = I'm sorry

quoi = _what_?

Doctor Who = _Yeeeah_… Blame that on Haya xD She's the Doctor Who obsessor over there. Look it up. Cult-classic SciFi show over in Britain (Haya: IT IS NOT JUST A SHOW. It is magic. MAGIC I SAY. This idiot won't get addicted to it. WRRRRRRRY. It's SO FUCKING AMAZING. OHMAGOD. I love all the DW Tumblrsssss. They're so maaaagiiiiicaaaal. David Tennet is the most adorable thing on the face of the plaaaaaneeeeet. Matt Smith comes second. Aaaah 3 And Donna. Oh Donna I will forever love you as the original ginger. Amy's gingerness was heartbreak original BUT I GOT OVER IT BECAUSE SHE'S ADORABLE.)


	4. Cookie Dough and Ice Cream

(Go: Sorry for the wait guys! We've been getting error messages on uploading this for a week and a half now :P We tried on a grand total of 8 different computers to try and get this up. Finally today I did a search on this error and found a trick and got it to work! So sorry for the wait)

Heehee hi guys! Guess who has a convention in a week. ME. Guess who still has to finish her Prussia uniform. HAHA. ME. Yeah. I'm sewing like crazy xD Derp derp. But you guys still get new chapters. Ain't I nice? So~ Hope you enjoy the latest chapter! Reviews loved as always! Oh and anyone else going to Megacon? ;D

**

* * *

Chapter Four: Cookie Dough and Ice Cream**

How did someone reply to that? France was selfishly happy he wasn't alone in his misery. At the same time he wished dreadfully everything had worked out for King of Camelot. It was as if the fate of their love lives were linked.

**FrenchCock:** What happened?

**KingofCamelot:** I was an idiot, that's what happened.

**KingofCamelot:** He said he loved me.

**KingofCamelot: **And I just... Blew up.

That was eerie... France frowned and slowly replied.

**FrenchCock**: _Dieu_ why would you do that?

**KingofCamelot:** Fuck if I know. I've been wanting to know how he feels. But when he said it it was so out of nowhere.

**KingofCamelot:** I didn't know what to do. I acted out of stupidity and ruined everything.

**KingofCamelot: **I hurt him.

**FrenchCock:** If you wanted to know so badly

**FrenchCock:** Why didn't you just ask and avoid the whole situation?

**KingofCamelot:** It would be wrong of me to put him on the spot like that.

France laughed wryly and shook his head. What type of reasoning was that? Christ...

**FrenchCock:** Well it would have been preferable over what happened

**KingofCamelot:** I know that now...

**KingofCamelot:** I can only hope my apology ebbs the effects on him somewhat. Though I doubt it will...

**FrenchCock:** You apologized and he hasn't responded?

**KingofCamelot:** I only sent it recently. It took a bit of time to make.

His reply was interrupted as the doorbell rang. France stared at his computer for several seconds before standing and crossing the house to open the door. There sat a package on the step, the delivery man driving off down the road. This was just a strange coincidence, right? The blond picked up the box and brought it to the kitchen, where he pulled out a knife cut the packaging tape. Inside was a stuffed lion plush. Lying on its stomach was a small piece of paper in England's sprawl, "_Sorry_."

What- How- France pulled the little lion out of the box and hugged it to his chest as he slid to the ground, pitiful laughter shaking his body. This couldn't be happening. England was sorry and sent him a silly plush? He was so stupid! Did he really think that was enough? Well it was, but for any normal person it wouldn't have been. He was such an-

_Took a bit of time to make._

He wasn't sure what made him check. Perhaps it was the way King of Camelot seemed so familiar. Or the fact their love lives were on parallel paths. Or that England had been reaching out so much lately. He wouldn't do that just by himself... He would have needed assistance...

France held the lion closer to his eyes and inspected the stitching. It was expertly done, but there were the obvious slips here and there one would make while hand sewing the material together. England had made it. King of Camelot had made his Roses something. Surely this could just be one big coincidence... But there was no such thing as a coincidence this big.

He jumped to his feet and returned to the computer. He had to be sure. He had to know.

**FrenchCock:** Maybe you should try showing up at his house without warning

**FrenchCock:** I'm sure he's forgiven you after getting your apology

**FrenchCock:** You just need to show how much you love him

**KingofCamelot:** How in the world am I supposed to do that after what I've done?

**FrenchCock:** Perhaps you should make yourself vulnerable to him

**FrenchCock:** Go outside of your comfort zone to please him and show you want him to care

**KingofCamelot:** Bloody hell.

**KingofCamelot:** If you think it will work. It's the best I have

**FrenchCock:** Does he have any fetishes?

Long pause. **KingofCamelot:** I suppose he likes it when I'm more demanding. Rough.

**FrenchCock:** Any outfits?

A second pause. **KingofCamelot:** Something does come to mind.

**FrenchCock:** Oh? What?

**KingofCamelot: **Police officer uniform?

**FrenchCock:** Oh that's arousing

He was nothing close to aroused. His blood was cold. He felt dizzy. How could this be true?

**KingofCamelot:** I hope to God you're right

**FrenchCock:** You should go as soon as possible

**KingofCamelot:** Alright.

**KingofCamelot:** If this works, I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you.

And with that, King of Camelot logged off.

France closed his laptop and stared blankly at the wall. When had everything become so confusing? Could England possibly be King of Camelot? It would make so much sense. And there were too many eerie coincidences for there not to me a connection. How had he not seen it earlier?

King of Camelot had a cheerful idiotic friend dubbed _Hamburgers_ and he had been unable to figure out if his feelings for him were platonic or not. He had a friend named Roses that was sexually driven and they were constantly fighting. France told King of Camelot to start reaching out to Roses and England started showing up more in his life. He suggested King of Camelot tell Roses to plan a date without sex. England had.

France hadn't had a reason to suspect anything. There was no reason to connect King of Camelot with England. The love sick fool in him was too elated to think someone was helping England. Who would have thought that someone was him?

The plush lion stared at him from the desk top. Those button eyes refused to look away. France sighed and picked it up to bury his head in the soft material, breathing in England's scent. His heart was racing with anticipation.

* * *

So maybe the lion had been pathetic of him. Yet it was all that had come to mind. Incredibly unoriginal as he was, England had gotten the idea from a popular French sitcom he'd watched in his days of self-loathing following the incident. When he'd messed up the main character mailed the heroine a handmade plush. Something about it being from the heart. What came more from England's heart than sending France his symbol as a representation of handing himself over to him?

But he hadn't called. He hadn't done anything, and he knew he would have gotten it in the mail soon. To further his hope for forgiveness he'd taken the given advice, leaving him now standing before the Frenchman's house in the uniform of an English police officer. Oh the looks he'd gotten on his way here. Taking a deep breath, England forced himself to block everything out. Everything consisting mostly of his utter embarrassment.

He _had_ to show France he was willing to go to lengths he wouldn't normally go. That he would do so for him.

Letting out the breath, England rang the doorbell and waited.

The door opened instantly, a wide eyed and flushed France on the other side. He had obviously raced to the door as he gasped, "Arthur?"

Acting quickly, impulsively, but for once in his life not _brashly_, England took a hold of France's collar and brought him down to a deep kiss there in the doorway. It was a passionate kiss, but not in a furious sort of way as he was often given to. It was pleading. A desperate pleading that France immediately picked up on.

He pulled the Brit into the house and into him, caressing his tongue with his own. Giving a moan England leaned into him, hoping to God above this meant he was forgiven.

No. He had to stop hoping.

Parting their lips, England pushed France to sit in a chair set in his living room. For a moment he watched him.

He had to start saying and acting.

Climbing into his lap England kissed France's ear, shuddering shortly himself. In his head the siren was blaring. Not towards France but in response to himself. What was he _doing_? A part of him was playing on that roughness France so loved while another portion was slow and affectionate to try and show what was going on in his heart. The war simply would not ebb, even as he continued to kiss him. It was embarrassing as hell to be in this sort of state before France, so desperate and pitiful.

But _damned_ if he wasn't going to bury that humiliation and speak his mind. No, not his mind. His heart.

When he leaned back to look at France England's brows were furrowed in earnest while his eyes shined in emotion. "If you don't take me back I want to bloody beat you in the head. But I can't do that. For once," he flushed in his own stupidity but continued on in a rush, "for once I want to be the good cop and give you an option, let you do what you want. Because I care. I care so damn much. Even if I know I'll be furious and even more depressed than I have been I want for it to be your choice because I don't want to screw you over more than I already have."

"Arthur," France stared up at the flushed Brit with hazy eyes. He slowly kissed the man in his lap with a shining smile. "You can screw me as much as you want as long as I can call you mine."

At that smile England felt his heart ache he was so happy. It was more than he wanted. It was so much better. Surely later he would think back on this and feel embarrassed and maybe even a little bit cautious, unable to take that sort of commitment again. But for now he was too happy and too in the moment to have any room for that. With his own bright smile he kissed France. "That sounds brilliant."

Chuckling, France squeezed England's ass and shared another kiss. Yes brilliant. He was in love with this idiot. He loved him back...

And England was King of Camelot.

* * *

"Alfred, if you don't give me that blasted cookie dough this instant-! You know I go between hungry and horny when I'm drunk!" The Englishman shouted to his fellow nation, not half as inebriated as he wanted to be, natural considering he'd had his beer swiped from him by the idiot younger blond. "Listen to your elders, dammit!"

"Haha, you're such a woman!" America came back to the living room with a tub of cookie dough in one arm and ice cream in the other. "You know, this is what women do in my tv shows."

"Says the one that used to take baths with me and ask when he'd get as big." Mixed emotions, England laughed at his own comeback when he'd grumbled it. "And there's nothing worth watching on your telly. All you have going for you are the bloody effects, no story or depth at all."

"Hey. Jersey Shore is _deep_." Snickering, America plopped down next to his drunk friend, shoving the cartons in his lap. He paused, then pushed them onto the couch so he could use England's lap as a pillow. "So what got you drunk this time?"

Glaring down at him, England flicked America's forehead as he blushed both in his usual angered drunkenness and in response to the git's actions. "Alcohol, what do you think?"

"You have reasons to drink the alcohol, dumbass!"

"Yeah, and they're called being an adult that enjoys his liquor from time to time," he huffed, plopping a spoon of cookie dough in his mouth and savouring it. But then, as it dissipated on his tongue, England grumbled and looked away. "Bloody Frog just pissed me off."

America grinned and reached up to pinch England's cheek. "What doesn't ever piss you off?"

Eyes widening, England nearly dropped the spoon from his lips before he bit the bowl and glared, giving his own grin as he tugged the brat's ear. "I can still discipline you, boy," he said once he'd pulled the spoon away with his free hand.

"Yeah you can try!" The energetic idiot jumped to his feet and pulled England into his arms, then brought them both to the ground, slamming on top of the smaller male. "I watch wrestling, bitch!"

Under the weight of the larger man England was completely winded and immobile for a full few seconds. Fucking-! When oxygen was again making itself home in his lungs our blond growled and squirmed beneath America, kicking and punching with all his might. "You oaf, you weigh more than an elephant!"

"Now that's just insulting!" America grinned and nuzzled the man struggling beneath him, unfazed. "I weigh more than whales with all this muscle!"

"Muscle my arse." Well damn. It was hard to fight back when he was so heavy and was being so affectionate. All the same England grumbled his words with a half-hearted glare and wiggle.

"Your ass definitely isn't muscled like _mine_." He jumped to his feet and posed, sticking his rear out for England to admire. "I have a dat ass that would make Dick Grayson jealous!"

Now he just rolled his eyes. They were on this now? And who was this Greyson he was talking about? "If the argument is that the one who uses it most has the more brawn, that horny Frog would therefore have the tightest arse."

"Haha what?" America dropped to the ground with a lopsided grin. "As if Francis uses he ass. He sure does use yours though." He winked and licked his lips teasingly.

A flush came upon England's face in a deep shade of red. "Shut it you twit!" Tackling him the island nation shouted, "I ought to wash your mouth out! Don't you dare talk about my sex life."

America just laughed and rolled them over to lie on top of England. "You're so old fashion Iggs!"

"And you're an ill-mannered boob. What are you, an animal?" How many times would he end up under America tonight? It was getting more annoying than embarrassing. "Get off."

That just brought even more laughter. "I'm a boob?"

"Fuck-It means you're an imbecile!"

"Boob! Boob! Booooobs!"

Damn he should have known not to use that word of his around this immature teenager. Rolling his eyes, England sighed and finally rolled the big lug off of him in favour of returning to the couch and his cookie dough.

Grinning like the fool he was, America jumped back onto the couch and flipped through the channels until he found a rerun of Young Justice. Satisfied, he made himself comfortable in England's lap again and winked. "So what did the Frog do that time?"

"Tried asking me on a date." Nibbling his spoon full of sugary sweet goodness England spoke lowly with a pink tinted face. "We're friends with benefits, that's all." With alcohol and comfort food he didn't care much about he said, contrasting his declaration to America not moments before.

"Well I suck with this shit!" America rolled off of England to sit up. "But you know I heard about this site from... Huh, someone, can't remember. But it's relationship advice and stuff!"

What the hell? One thick brow came up on his face as England stared at America incredulously. "Why would I need something like that?"

America laughed and rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Iggs. You're upset that he asked you on a date. If that doesn't say you're internally conflicted and need help, I don't know what does!"

"Don't go giving _me_ advice, you brat," and he tugged his ear.

"Aaah don't tug my ear!" America squirmed and shoved England, then grinned. "I'm a hero!"

"Hero my arse." Hopping up, England headed to another part of the American house. "Now where did you hide my liquor?"

"Hey hey!" He ran right after him. Without a care, America picked up him and carried him back to the couch. "You're going to watch my hero cartoons with me, sober up, and then go home and contact Dr. Love!"

"Put me down bastard! I will do no such thing!"

America just grinned and snuggled the fuming Brit. "I'll email it to ya. You can pretend you never checked it out."

"… Shut up."

* * *

"Welcome home~"

A chorus of voices greeted England when he stepped inside his house the morning after he'd spent another night on America's couch. It was a bit of needling annoyance to him that even when it was very little any amount of alcohol always ended him in two places: France's bed or America's couch. This time it had been the latter, if only because he was currently refusing to see the face of the former.

"Good morning everyone."

Yawning, his response was blasé to say the least. Noncommittal. His stomach wasn't all too happy with him after… Well, after an _ungodly_ amount of cookie dough. Even now as he moved in his kitchen and pulled out a kettle to boil some water for his tea his insides churned in rebellion against his large and frankly disgusting load. Damn he was such a masochist. Something made him mad and he drank, which was always mixed with either unhealthy overeating or unhealthy… Was over-sexing even a word? Surely there was one for it in French. Damn pansy language.

While the water heated he changed into his house clothes, planning to stay in for the rest of the day. To England house clothes translated to a loose tan sweater and gray slacks with a pair of slippers, ever given to his finer items even when he was relaxing. And in that way he drank his soothing peppermint tea not from some mug, but his set of china prescribed to daily use. Because honestly, what was the United Kingdom without his pride in manners? Yes, in contrasted greatly with his sailor's mouth, explosive temper, and various other personality flaws, but he still clung to the finer points of life! House always clean, hair properly washed, clothes proper at all times.

… But you know? Sometimes living like that got to him. It was the very upright and appropriate ways to which he lived his life that his more negative personality quirks came. In other areas he had to show his aggressions. Through various phases of his life they had come out in extremely violent ways, such as when he lived as a pirate. Always going through phases that varied in his attitude.

Sometimes he wondered where he stood truly as a person.

Growling to himself at such thoughts he downed his tea angrily, then pulled the cup away hurriedly. There he went, burning his tongue. That's what he deserved for thinking such petty thoughts. He was who he was. Every person went through phases, nations included. Hell, nations had it even worse, given to morph into whatever their people needed, _were_ at any given time.

… But was he just further cementing his argument that he didn't know himself by sitting here and arguing with… Himself?

"Blast!" Fine, if he was going to sit there and subconsciously sabotage himself he might as well give in and check out this love advice website America had referred him to while he was in such an inward-looking mood.

Grudgingly the man moved to his office – with a new cup of tea of course – and booted up his computer to visit Dr. Love's homepage. Immediately he scowled. Naturally the whole thing would be hearts and roses and utter stupidity. "Brilliant work, Dr. Love, I'm already turned off."

"But you're still going to send something in, aren't you?" Came a small voice from his shoulder that, in his glance back, was found to be one of his fairy friends. Lily.

England huffed. "I see no purpose in doing so." Beneath her stare he took a guilty side glance. "Though… I suppose it could be entertaining. Just to see how he responds."

And so under the miniature woman's approving grin and watchful eyes he read through the page, finding that it was suggested anyone that wished to ask a question of this Dr. Love character make an email through a specific engine for this specific purpose so as to remain completely anonymous.

"So what's your username going to be for this one, Arthur?"

"… How does King of Camelot sound to you?"

**End of Chapter Four**

* * *

Yeah so it was obvious that KoC was England xD Blame all of this secrecy on Haya. She wanted it to remain in the shadows. (Haya: It makes it more fun!)

Oh well. It gave me a good excuse to launch into some deep character exploring. With more in store for you readers, naturally~


	5. Whiskey Coffee

Yaaay for getting back on schedule! Weirdo and their URL problem. Still in flashback mode to understand our tsundere nation~ Oh and since we're getting a pretty steady flow of reviews, thought I should mention that because we love you all, we have the tendency to write oneshots (or multipart fics if the plotbunny is big enough) for our 100th reviewer. Not quite close yet, but just putting it out there for our new readers ~

* * *

**Chapter Five: Whiskey Coffee**

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_As a first time writer I'm not too sure of the format in which I must write my questions, so you must forgive me if I do this incorrectly in anyway.'_

Following this introduction England paused. He'd started out politely, as usual, as was his way. It was easy to play the gentleman in most cases. It was when he got to finishing that off and was asked to pour out something beneath his persona that he became flustered. How did he begin with the _rest_ of the letter?

Strangely, while he fumbled through the beginning, it soon flowed from his fingertips.

'_The issues of mine that require your assistance involve me and two other men. I've long ago accepted that I am attracted to other men, so no help needed there. It's in the feeling of affection itself that I have a hard time. Between the two given people that I am close with I have different sets of feelings, though both are equally as strong._

_Hamburgers as I will call him, I have seen grow up. We've had our fair share of issues in the past after being so affectionate in our younger days, but fortunately in the present we are friends that have been through quite a bit together in our work. He's a big oaf and an idiot of a man, yet I can't help but worry for him even on the smallest of measures. I tell him he needs to eat less, try going on a diet, that sort of thing._

_Roses, on the other hand… Roses was there to watch me grow up. For as long as I can remember we have been rivals that throw insults back and forth easier than we breathe. On a number of occasions it can turn most heated… In both given definitions of the word. Our skirmishes draw blood. Or they draw a nice shag, sometimes both. These meetings have become fairly frequent over the years, giving us that title of 'friends with benefits' I believe._

_When I drink I usually end up in two places. On Hamburgers couch complaining about life, or in Roses bed complaining about him. I have no idea how to read these actions of mine._

_On New Years Roses kissed me at our usual party. Then he asked me out. While both pissed me off to no hand I can't deny that they make me want to sort out my feelings for these two men. And I simply don't know how._

_ Sincerely, King of Camelot_'

"See how easy that was?"

Blushing pink, England again looked to Lily, having yet to leave his shoulder. "Of course it was easy," the man scoffed, "I'm only doing this to see how much of a bloody bird this chap is."

Tiny eyes rolled at this response. Flitting off of him she landed on the desk to move his mouse over and press the 'Send' button on the screen, an action he had neglected to see to its finish. "Now we wait for the response," she grinned up at him.

Of course she would notice he was refraining from turning the damn thing in. In a furrowed brow expression England nodded. Well, it _would_ be entertaining. It couldn't very well be if he didn't send the thing.

While England was intent on ignoring his email for the rest of the day, his magical friend was more than happy to keep tabs on incoming mail. Within a few hours she squealed and forced England to open the reply from Dr. Love.

'_King of Camelot,_

_Thank you for writing to me with your troubles. I know how hard it must have been to accept you need help, even though it seems you could have used it sooner. But late help is better than none. It seems you have quite the jumbled heart, which makes my job difficult. I'm not quite sure how I can help solve the mystery of your love with the information you've given me._

_I believe the questions you need to be asking yourself are:_

_"Is my love for Hamburgers more than platonic?"_

_"Can I see myself making love with Hamburgers?"_

_"Can I see a relationship outside of sex forming with Roses?"_

_"Is it possible to resolve my conflicts with Roses to improve our relationship?"_

_"Can I see myself spending the rest of my life with Hamburgers/Roses?"_

_When you have found definitive answers to these questions, my assistance will be of more value. If you need help answering any of these questions, please do not hesitate to request my help in that._

_Thank you for contacting me,_

_Dr. Love'_

As he read England had mixed feelings towards what the letter and its questions drudged up. He'd begun with a snobbish sort of attitude in receiving a reply so serious to something he'd written as a joke. Then as he read on he couldn't help but think deeply upon these questions asked of him.

Honestly, how could someone like this needle through his haphazard entrance letter to prod at him with questions that were so incredibly relevant and reduced him to such a bloody woman? It was aggravating… And enlightening at the same time.

Ever grudgingly, England began punching out his reply.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_I will answer each of your questions herein to the best of my ability in hopes that you may take my answers and more fully understand me and my problem._

_Is my love for Hamburgers more than platonic? Can I see myself making love with Hamburgers? Honestly? Not really… I mean, we've never even attempted anything of that nature. The most is innocent kisses on the cheek when we were younger. So I really have no idea…_

_Can I see a relationship out of sex forming with Roses? It has been so before. However it is difficult for me to see a relationship without our usual quarrels occurring that always ended our former attempts._

_Is it possible to resolve my conflicts with Roses to improve our relationship? I suppose if I knew it could make some sort of headway and he would respond in turn with his own attempts I could give it a try… Though the mere thought is a bit humiliating._

_Can I see myself spending the rest of my life with Hamburgers/Roses? I'm a solitary fellow, to imagine living with another is hard no matter who it may be. All the same… If I could learn to control myself a little better and they not irritate me too much on a daily basis living with either sounds appealing._

_ Hoping this cleared a few things up,_

_ King of Camelot._'

"Well that is worthwhile, isn't it?" Lily asked with a giant smile.

Glancing to the side, England mumbled, "What is?"

"_This_," she giggled.

England flushed. "You're being silly in all of this love business, Lily."

She shook her head with another giggle and a wink. "Just because you aren't excited doesn't mean I'm over excited!"

"Don't you have someone else you could torment?"

"No one is as fun as you~"

Okay so that made him blush and smile a little. He nuzzled the tiny woman on his shoulder gently. "You're a strange bird, you know that?"

"Only as strange as you, hun," Lily replied with a bright smile.

* * *

The next reply didn't come until that following morning. Lily wasn't around, leaving England with a difficult decision. He could open it without her and accept that he believed in this love help rubbish or wait for her and continue being resistant... Curiosity won in the end and he began reading Dr. Love's reply.

_'King of Camelot,_

_I've put much thought into your reply and have come to the decision that you must resolve your feelings for Hamburgers before even thinking about Roses. It seems there is more potential for a lasting relationship with Roses, but perhaps that is because he has been around for the majority of _your_ life. It's easier to see yourself with someone who's always been there. But I digress. Roses is for another point in time._

_For now I want you to focus on Hamburgers. Spend some more time with him. Try kissing him (sober, mind you, for you said you have the tendency to get drunk and visit him). Gauge your reaction and his. Compare how you feel with him with Roses. Hopefully this will allow you to discover a hidden love for Hamburgers, or solidify your __platonic relationship__._

_Let me know how it goes,_

_Dr. Love'_

Try kissing Hamburgers? Atypical of him, England paused to think this advice through with a hand to his chin. Kiss America and gauge the reactions of both him and the larger nation. It certainly seemed reasonable enough. How else did one test for feelings of love? He wasn't too sure. Course he did kiss France often and was still unsure of his feelings for him…

This Dr. Love fellow had been dead on for the most part since the beginning. Already England felt himself trusting the man even a little. He obviously had _some_ sort of knowledge on the subject, so he might as well listen to him.

Such rational behavior towards something he would often be stupefied by in its romantic nature kept him through as he got himself to America's doorstep and, in the door being opened by said bespectacled blond, reaching up to pull him down into a kiss. For a split second, America returned the kiss, but then pulled away with raised brows. "You don't taste drunk."

Thinking his excuse over for a moment, England had to pause before he laughed haughtily, fists on his hips. "Of course I'm not drunk! I made a bet with someone."

"Okay..." America stared down at England in silence, then said, "That was a really crappy surprise kiss. I hope the bet wasn't to seduce me."

"… Of course it wasn't! I would never agree to that. You're an idiot, Alfred." With that as his parting England turned and left to return home with his gather information. It was only when he was home and in front of his computer that he turned red and covered his face with a hand. That had been bloody brilliant of him, hadn't it? He did get what he wanted out of it, though…

Kissing America had felt strange. Awkward even. Like kissing his mother, if he had one, on the lips. It had been… Well, it just _was_. Some sort of silly bribed action that left him wanting to get away as quickly as possible.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_I kissed Hamburgers as you suggested. And frankly it felt like I was kissing my brother. Embarrassing, but mostly in its awkwardness._

_ Sincerely,_

_ King of Camelot.'_

"Well, well, well." England looked up to see Lily sitting on the computer with a blinding smile. "Wonder what he'll have you do next."

After a short glower England shrugged and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in a smirk. "Probably something horribly tacky."

"And super intelli-"

The computer made a dinging noise, cutting Lily off before she could finish her sentence, not that she minded. She grinned and jumped down from the screen to land next to the mouse and open the email Dr. Love had sent. "How lucky! He was already at the computer!"

'_King of Camelot, _

_Dieu! That was fast~ I'm glad you took my advice and tested it out! Now we need to tackle the Roses problem. Obviously there is _something _there for him in your heart, or you wouldn't continue going back to him for sex. Or even consider loving him for that matter. I know you have physical contact with him often, but I want you to now go and kiss him. _

_Now I don't mean a drunken kiss. I want you to kiss him and pay attention to everything. To your heart. Is it racing? Is it skipping beats? To your mind. Is it spinning? Is it wandering or thinking only of him? To your body. Does it react to his touch? Does it want more without you even realizing it? _

_Good luck,  
Dr. Love'_

"… Ahaha, see, I was right! Something tacky!"

Lily huffed and looked up to her large friend. "It is not tacky. It is brilliant!"

"That is nowhere near brilliant." Asking him to go for France now? He never did that sober! Not anymore. It was the only time he lost that inhibition that kept him from jumping his bones. Fucking love doctor. Now he was just being cruel.

"Oh please." Lilly flew up to his shoulder and pinched his ear lobe as she sat. "You are going to go do that!"

At her attack England growled and tried to swat the fairy away. "You know I can't do that without any alcohol!"

Being treated like a bug did not please Lily. She gave a little growl of her own and kicked his head before making herself comfortable on the computer screen again. "I don't care. You want to resolve your feelings and this man is helping you! You have to do as he says or he can't do his job."

Maybe he was acting a bit immature about this. He had followed the first orders but now that they weren't to his liking he went back on saying he would listen to this man if he would in turn find reason behind his emotions. "… Just a few sips of alcohol won't make me drunk."

"You'll do it?" Lily squealed and flew down to hug England's neck giddily. "I'm telling the girls!" With another squeal, she flew off.

"Heh, I was just making a statement. Wasn't saying I would go through with it." Laughing at his cleverness England nodded in self approval. "…" Oh fuck it.

* * *

Fortunately for England and his Dr. Love friend there was to be a meeting at a hotel between French and English companies the following day, something both nations were called upon to attend. England told himself that he was doing this only because the opportunity had presented itself. It wasn't like he was going out of his way to do as this chap said. It just happened to work out in his favor, same as how there just happened to be a bit of whiskey in his coffee near the end of their talks, just enough to make him buzzed but still be concealed behind the beverage it had been mixed into. Even his breath didn't give it away! Worked out splendidly.

Naturally the two had argued the entire time, and at a point their bosses and the company owners gave a collective sigh and adjourned for the night, seeing that it had been as they feared, a bad idea to bring the two along. For them it was at least. At least they had gotten away before in their leaving of the room England angrily pressed France into the wall in the empty hallway and mashed their lips together.

Originally, there was a frozen shock at the abruptness, then a slow grin and returning the kiss. France wrapped his arms around England's waist and pulled him closer, chuckling at the faint taste of alcohol. That explained England's behavior. He took hold of that firm ass and broke their kiss to whisper against England's lip, "All that anger from the meeting was sexual frustration. Should have known."

Glowering at the man, England growled and nipped France's lower lip. "So bloody confident," he said before kissing him again, taking advantage of his opened mouth and pushing his tongue inside to antagonize the Frenchman's whilst he grinded his hips a little on instinct.

His witty response lost in the heated kiss, France just smiled and happily returned the vigor of England's tongue, all while slowly leading them to his room.

Two days later England sat down in front of his computer to think over what he had experienced on the trip from which he had just returned. He reread the latest email from his personal love guru.

_'The moment they stepped into the room and had the door closed was when the clothes started to come off. France's tie, England's suit coat. They piled onto the floor, hit the wall or furniture in uncaring tosses. He didn't care where they ended up, just as long as they could be gone and no longer separate skin from skin. With the loss of France's shirt England could properly dig his nails into the man's shoulder blades in another rough kiss before pushing him onto the bed._'

His heart did race. It skipped beats more than what should have been healthy.

_'He rode him hard that night. From his position atop him England bent down to nip France's neck, his breath hot and clipped. "Francis," he said airily, licking his lips in a grin and shudder of ecstasy as their rhythm began to reach a crescendo. The moment he reached it was always some sort of divine experience, he had no other way of describing it. As those stars filled his vision his body turned completely weightless for a moment and his back arched deeply._'

His mind span so much all he could was keep it occupied on that man's body so as to not go completely insane.

_'The moment France cupped his rear a fire pierced through England's trousers from those fingertips, igniting the fuse in his spine. The grinding of his hips was completely instinctual, a sort of act to which no thought is applied. All at once England wanted to devour or be devoured. He didn't even care, just as long as it was with this fucking Frenchman that had set his gut aflame_.'

It reacted to his touch more than he would like to admit. It turned into that of some sort of sex demon that would not be sated until it had its fill of the one that caused said transformation.

_'Dear Dr. Love,_

_Yes. Yes to bloody all of them._

_Sincerely,_

_King of Camelot_.'

It didn't take long for a reply to appear in his inbox.

_'Well King of Camelot,_

_I believe the answer is simple. You are in love with Roses._

_Think it over,_

_Dr. Love'_

For a long time he stared at the screen, at that message. It was a blank sort of stare, his mind to preoccupied for his body to produce expressions.

For as long as he could remember it had been France. It had fucking always been him. For his centuries of life it had been that bloody ass that his life had been centered around. When he entered wars England would join the opposite side if only long enough to beat his face in. And it was because he wanted him all to himself.

Maybe that explained all of it. Why he was always so angry at the man. Because he was jealousy and needy like a hormonal woman. He was the only one that could receive France's anger, affections, everything. No one else.

In his invasion as the Normans France had been one of the first people outside of his brothers that England met as an isolated nation in the sea. The first to show him kindness, and like a blind man he clung to that first and only shred of light in everything. He'd continued to cling to it, through all their fights and all their different relationships. No matter what he wanted those eyes always on him. And they were the only eyes he wanted watching. No one else would do.

France was too perfect to stand. Too beautiful, too cultured, too European, everything England had ever wanted to be. And through all of his perfection he had reached out to him and made a connection to a little angry thick browed Saxon. So like the bloody Beast he had formed an unending craving for the Beauty.

Through the whole thought process a blush had risen on England's cheeks. Now that he finally allowed the thought to occur to him he moaned and planted his face on the desk. He was such an idiot. He should have known it would turn out like this. That it had always been like this. There was nothing he could do about it, not after centuries of fighting it. It was still there. It wouldn't go away.

He was in love with France.

**End of Chapter Five**

* * *

Pft, FINALLY Iggy! Am I right guys? xD But seriously, there's my rendition of Iggy's feelings. Or at least part of it. You'll be getting the rest later~


	6. Peanuts and Popcorn

Hee. We're on such a roll. God~ And yesterday was my birthday. WISH ME A HAPPY BIRTHDAY GUISE ;3 Ummmz hm not much else to say I believe x3 Thanks for the reviews as always. We love you all to pieces. Oh. And we do have the next chapter already done... Maybe with some super persuasion I might be nice with my birthday cheer and not make you all wait a full week ;D

* * *

**Chapter Six: Peanuts and Popcorn**

It had taken him a while before England could type out a coherent reply after such a revealing statement. When he did he felt incredibly bashful and insecure, though also a bit excited. It was odd.

_'Dear Dr. Love,_

_Fine. I love the bastard. What should I do with this information?_

_Sincerely, _

_King of Camelot_.'

"This is so wonderful," Lily giggled, flying around his head.

Still unwilling to show his face England tilted it downward. "That's what you think."

Lily pouted and pinched his cheek. "Love is always wonderful."

"It's just a stupid emotion."

"Is not!"

"Yes it is," he mumbled, glancing to the side. With all of his romanticism, England had never been comfortable speaking on the subject, and even less so letting himself think upon it in relation to him.

"You're hopeless," Lily pouted.

"Well what am I _supposed_ to feel, huh?" Huffing, the Englishman finally looked up to his friend in an indignant glare.

Lily smiled and twirled in the air. "You should feel happy!"

"Happy about finding I love _France_?"

"It's someone..."

"Someone? I have to love at least someone?" England asked with a rueful chuckle.

Knowing that wasn't the right thing to say, Lily landed on his shoulder and hugged his neck. "I mean, you can't spend your life alone. And Francis has always been a part of your life."

"I've been just fine for centuries," the man said with a small nod of fact.

"And yet he's still a prominent part of your life."

"Because he's always starting things with me..."

Lily couldn't help but giggle. "You seem to start quite a bit by yourself."

"Because I hate his bloody guts!"

"So you have sex. Makes sense to me." Lily smiled and winked. "Also makes sense why you love him, now doesn't it? Your emotions for him were so strong, but you couldn't fathom loving him, so you hated him. You've really loved him all this time!"

"... Fuck." Groaning, England slumped in his chair.

"Oh quit complaining~" Lily giggled, then squealed at the computer chimed. She flew down and opened the email before England could even react.

_'Dear King of Camelot,_

_Isn't the answer obvious? Tell him!_

_Really, did you need me to say that?_

_Dr. Love_'

"Easier said than done," England finally gave in a grumble.

"You just say it!" Lily exclaimed.

"Like hell I will." And there he went again, just laughing everything off and acting so conceited in his propriety. Leaning back in his chair now England crossed his arms. "This chap has it all wrong. I'm not telling the frog anything on my life." With that England shut down the blasted technology and went off to busy himself elsewhere in the house. Anything to get him away from the computer and Lily. Or any of his friends really.

Why was it always so difficult for him to even consider the subject of love? When it was others he had no issue, congratulating the women of court and attending weddings galore over his time. But when had it ever been real? Where along the line had there been any love in what he'd witnessed? All of those arranged marriages for political gain, all of those affairs based solely upon pleasure. Even today he had a hard time finding it.

It all traced back to his namesake, really. King Arthur had been a great man. Camelot a wonderful city. And Lancelot a truly virtuous knight. But in Guinevere they all three fell. Because of that bloody love triangle it had all been for naught. Without it couldn't the stories have gone so much better? Arthur and Lancelot have been true gentleman? That was all England ever aspired to be. A good, proud man, one that was strong and stuck by his morals. Obviously that got no one anywhere when love was involved.

But he would be lying if he said that was the only reason for his denying any possibility of holding said feeling towards France. And he'd be lying if he said it was simple.

As an island nation so near Europe yet so isolated from a young age England had garnered for himself the stubborn pride an outcast is often given to. There was no other way for him to survive. The flowers that bloomed in a warm and protected valley always had finer stems than those that grew in the harsh moors of England, and as such England himself grew up believing the only nature he could have and continue on was one of a fighter. If anyone stepped on his pride he would attack them, because he simply could not stand for that. He could not be pushed around and weak as he had been as a child.

But what was he but a walking contradiction? In being so isolated England also held something of a social awkwardness when it came to the prospect of expressing himself. Fine he could interact with others, that was easy enough, but otherwise… It was hard on him. Emotions that he'd buried in keeping himself going scared the man and embarrassed him at the mere thought of revealing them to others. How could he ever be taken seriously again if he acted like some bleeding heart? So as a simpleton of a country boy he craved attention and the love of others. How did he have any idea how to achieve that? Outside of France he hadn't ever had anything of familial care, brothers bullying him to the extreme and even the Frenchman treating with his fair share of mocking.

Was that it? He was frightened of opening himself bare to an emotion for which he had such little understanding? Scared of having his pride crushed in doing so? Or rather, the place where his ego resided. His heart.

He'd been close with France before. And look where it had gotten him.

Then why was he reaching out towards him now? If he hadn't seen some future with him in this context he wouldn't have written in!

Was this some subconscious attempt to land himself a place where he would be truly happy? Or at least to figure out for himself if such a chance existed? What had started all of this?

That kiss. That one fucking kiss had set it all into motion.

The new year's party of the current year had begun normal enough. He'd been drinking here and there, a little buzzed by the time the countdown had started. A fair bit of the get together had been spent arguing with France, as usual. Then as he'd been giving his chants of a spell for prosperity in the coming year he'd been interrupted by a pair of frog-smelling lips, effectively silencing his work.

There, that had been it. In his loss of that tradition England had sworn then and there that in the coming year he would once and for all sort everything out, a challenge France had offered in that rude action of his.

Sighing, England stood. Reading had gotten him nowhere when he'd walked away from the computer. What time he'd allotted for it had been spent mulling over his thoughts. Now his formerly mentioned fierce pride reared its head in response to his pathetic cowardice from before. He'd sworn to himself that this would get worked out one way or another. He wasn't about to stop halfway.

Still riding this high of determination, he'd stamped out a heartfelt reply and sent it before he could think it over.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_You may believe it an obvious course of action, but frankly I can't simply up and tell him at this juncture. I'm just too scared to. To be rejected. I'm not an extremely expressive man, and I need a sense of closure before I go about doing something like this._

_ Sincerely,_

_King of Camelot_.'

He always used the same format didn't he? Just showed how damn predictable and uncreative he was. Honestly, King of Camelot? But what else could he have thought of? By the time he'd made and eaten dinner he had yet to come up with something, but he had received a reply in that time.

_ 'King of Camelot,_

_I apologize if my last message came across as rude and uncaring. I failed to realize how much help you truly need. I'm your devoted servant now. It is as much as your mission as is mine to solve your heart's matters with Roses. _

_Now, since you are worried about being rejected, the next course of action would be to find where you stand. Just spend time with him and instead of analyzing how _you_ act, analyze his actions. Spend time with him alone and in groups to compare his actions towards you and others. Hopefully you will find your answer in this._

_Yours truly,  
Dr. Love'_

It was getting to be a good time... England glanced to the clock. He caught himself smiling at Dr. Love's words. Well, if he had this sort of backing…

* * *

But, as usual, he acted on impulse and ended up regretting it. By the time he'd ordered his first drink at the bar he felt incredibly stupid. What kind of excuse was this, just happening to be at a bar he knew France frequented with his friends at a time he knew the lot preferred to drink? The Englishman groaned and rested his forehead on the cool roost of the bar. This was so dumb... Maybe he could leave before the trio showed?

"Oi is that Iggs?" The loud voice was soon followed by a crushing tackle as red eyes met England's as Prussia hooked his head over the Brit's shoulder. "Kesese! Knew it!"

"_Angleterre_? Whatever are you doing here?"

Middle pressed against the bar England coughed, air knocked out of him, before he could push Prussia off and turn to face them. He rubbed his ribs tenderly. Fucking albino bastard-Oh shit it was France. He hadn't stopped to think how he'd respond to seeing him after his realisation. Flushing, green eyes stared for a moment. When he caught himself England glanced away. "I wanted a drink." Damn this was embarrassing as hell. France was standing _right there_.

The giant smile on France's face only made England squirm more. The blond chuckled and pushed Prussia out of the way to sit next to England. "Happened to be in the area? And chose our favorite bar by chance?"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know?" Grumbling, England watched him in a blushing side glance. "If I'd known I would have gone somewhere else."

"Well doesn't matter now!" Prussia yelled, butting between them again. "Iggs is drinking with us tonight! Fuck yeah!"

"Wouldn't want to interrupt your bunch." In his mumbling England turned his gaze... Them cautiously looked to France from the corner of his eye for a reaction.

"Getting drunk and having fun can be interrupted?" Prussia cackled, slapping England on the back.

France just smiled coyly and said teasingly, "_Angleterre_ can rain on anything~"

"... Perhaps I ought to drink some lightweights under the table tonight," the blond found himself slowly consenting. If they insisted...

"We don't care!" Prussia paused for a second, then looked to Spain with a crooked grin. "Right Toni? 'Is all good?"

Less than excited, Spain mumbled himself in faint annoyance and thus made England cringe. "Yeah yeah."

The two didn't get along very well just yet.

"That's as good as an answer as we'll get~" France cooed, pulling England to his feet and to their regular table.

This was going too well. England felt a bit of suspicion as he rose a brow. "What are you on about tonight, Frog?"

France raised a brow and chuckled. "I can't encourage you getting drunk? We had such a nice time last time we were together."

More brash actions. Turning red, England pinched and tugged a French cheek at that in a growl. "Shut your cakehole, dammit."

"Does he get a different hole if he does?" Prussia chirped from his seat, a bottle of beer already half downed.

"Of course you know everything about holes, walking the walk as you are," came the smirking English retort when he stole said beverage.

"Like you're one to talk!" Prussia snapped, snatching his beer back with his tongue sticking out.

"Now, now, ladies," France chuckled, signaling to the bar keeper for several pitchers of beer. "We're all in agreement you two have plenty of use~"

Scoffing, it was England's turn to poke his tongue past his lips. "If anyone's a bloody bird here it's you."

"You do still look good in a dress," Spain offered in a laugh.

France sighed dramatically and smiled ruefully. "I'm cursed with a beauty suited for both a man and a woman."

"More like you're just a fucking chick," Prussia snickered.

Rather than replying to his friend, France's gaze slid to England with a smirk. "Am I really so lacking, _Angleterre_, that I am a woman?"

Drinks arriving, England poured himself a glass and pointed to France with a finger of the palm holding it. "Are you second guessing your skills? _You_? My what a sign," before he downed a portion of his alcohol.

"_Moi_? _Non_~ Just making sure you haven't forgotten~"

"It is pretty easy to forget."

"Oh?" France leaned into England to nibble his ear. "Does _Angleterre_ need a reminder?"

In his growl England pushed the pervert away, blush a mixture of embarrassment, inebriation, and maybe a bit of arousal. "Do I need to remind _you_ how strong of a right hook I can deliver?"

"Oh _non_~ I remember clearly, not to worry."

"So shut it already."

France stole a quick kiss before pulling away and chuckling. "Yes sir!"

"So are you two going to start rolling on the ground or what? Decide already!" Spain huffed after he'd downed his second glass.

"Come on, this is _them_ we're talking about!" Prussia snickered and 'whispered' loudly to Spain, "They gotta get sexually frustrated as fuck and then jump each other the second they're alone."

In disappointment the Spaniard mumbled, "that's no fun."

"I know, right? A show would be awesome."

"Is the peanut gallery finished yet?" England snapped with a glare.

"Peanut?" Prussia blinked and looked down at his mug. "Where are peanuts?"

"Peanuts and beer? That's a strange mixture," mused Spain, hand to chin in thought at the prospect.

Imbeciles. Already buzzed and he was still more intelligent. Scowling, England took a long swig of his heavenly alcohol. He'd need it having to spend time with those two. He eyed France. England blushed and turned his attention back to the drink. Definitely needed it to be with him right now.

"Do you want something, Arthur?" The constant glances and blushing was nothing close to unnoticed for our Frenchman. He raised a brow curiously as he sipped his wine.

Well damn. Who knew the bastard could be so perceptive? Reddening ever more, England pointedly stared at his glass. "Psh, how about you go for a swim in the Arctic?"

"Well you be there to warm me up?" He purred in response.

"More like to laugh at you the entire time."

France leaned against England with a pout. "Oh _mon Angleterre_ is so mean!"

"You're the one being mean," he pointed out, gesturing towards the albino and his curly haired friend. England didn't bother ending their contact as he spoke. "You're ignoring your mates."

"Nah, we know he's attached to ya if you're here," Prussia answered before France. "We enjoy watching him drool like an idiot."

France huffed and glared at his friend. "I do not _drool_."

"That'll be after a few more drinks!" Added Spain, bursting into laughter.

"And I believe you two have already had one too many," France replied with a scowl.

The token darkly skinned male scowled right back. "And you've had one too less!"

Well there was no arguing with that. Though, at the strangeness of the wording England had to snicker as he sipped the drink before him. These three really were a trio of idiots, weren't they? He'd had no doubts prior, but now the fact was cemented in his brain.

"I think I could use several more!"

France and Spain broke eye contact to stare at their friend, then they all burst into laughter.

Yep, a bunch of idiots. Spain grinned and leaned over to hug his albino bud around the waist. "Oh GilGil."

"_Was_? I'm serious!"

France shook his head and called for some more pitches. "_Oui, oui, nous savons_."

Green eyes rolled in their sockets. _Everyone_ knew. Yet again those eyes trailed to a head of luscious blond locks. Just like everyone knew how France-England shook his head fervently. Great, the usual masochistic depression was kicking in. He'd hoped he'd be saved from that on this night. Because, you know, he _was_ France. He'd been with _everyone_.

Prussia provided an ample enough distraction with an overflowing mug of beer. It wasn't long before the pitches were empty again and the two drunkards of the group were snickering between each other while exchanging insults.

England almost stopped midsentence when a warm hand suddenly appeared on his open thigh, strong fingers slowly starting to massage the sensitive skin near his crotch. He'd almost had to release his yelp of surprise and consequent moan of arousal, instead hurrying through his words in a rush before glaring fiercely at France in his flush. He did not, however, make any move to dispose of the wicked hand.

France just smiled coyly and traced circles with his thumb, eyes slowly undressing the man before him. Didn't he feel like a prized deer being sized up for the kill. Didn't anyone stop to wonder what would happen if the deer fought back? With his own smirk England shifted his leg, using the damn closeness France had forced upon him to his advantage now by brushing his leg against France's, knee dangerously close to his vital regions. The effect wasn't one England had been looking for, which wasn't a surprise. Rather than being shock, France just smiled and shifted into England's touch.

Eyes narrowed at this, knee moving in for the kill none too gently in the response. France shamelessly groaned and smiled brightly, his own hand moving to grip England's erection. Breath was sucked between England's teeth so sharply it hissed. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force himself down, though it was a hard task indeed as he was handled like this. "Fuck you," the man gave in a one-eyed glare.

"I'll gladly fuck you," was purred.

Prussia snickered and leaned against Spain. "Show's started."

"Wonder if we can order popcorn," he returned in a giggly whisper, just quiet enough to not be caught by their English addition as he gripped the table and growled to keep from moaning lustily.

"Do you want an audience?" France whispered into England's ear.

The man spoke back through gritted teeth. "Do you want a black eye?"

France chuckled and kissed him. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a _no_, git."

"Mm but I don't think I can wait."

So he was willing to subject them to that utter humiliation? "I refuse to put myself in that situation."

"Well if we're waiting," France pulled them to their feet and smiled to his friends. "_Mon amour_ deserves better than a restroom stall. _Bon nuit mes amis_~"

"Have fuun," Spain drawled.

France just smirked as he led them to his car. The doors shut, he turned to England and kissed him deeply. "You're right. I wouldn't want to do anything there. I wouldn't want anyone to steal you."

"Because I'll be snatched up by some other frog." Fuck he needed to just hurry his ass, England was needy as hell in his heated glare.

"Exactly."

Suddenly England's seat was all the way back and France was on top of him, their lips pressed together and tongues tangled. In response to the attack England growled. _Finally_. His hips moved to align their sensitive crotches and rub them together to create friction while his arms held France flush with his body, one hand in his hair and the other digging his fingers deeply into his back. France winced slightly as he worked on getting England's clothes off. Always so rough!

Now that made England grin. Ass got what had been coming on to him all evening, toying with him as he had. That said, he gladly started his own fingers into movement to undo the Frenchman's pants. Fingers didn't linger on buttons and soon they were both stripped of all clothing. France moved down England's body to nip and lick his chest teasingly as he searched his glove compartment for lube.

"_Fuck_," he cursed whilst his body instinctively arched into that mouth. Damn he was so hot already. In a breathy groan England glared down at him. "Take your time why don't you."

France nipped above England's naval and smiled. "I love watching you squirm."

He sat up with the lube in hand, straddling England. "We've never made love in the car before," he purred before inserting slick fingers into England's entrance, and as such receiving a moan and shifting of his body to envelope said intruders.

"At least it's yours," England couldn't help but laugh.

"I agree. Now I can remember this every time I drive~" He spread his fingers apart and licked a pert nipple.

Gasping loudly, England squeezed his eyes shut. With his shuddering he only continued the effect though. "Perv," he panted.

"Really in such a position to say that?" France whispered, finding his way to England's sweet spot. With that the man beneath him bit into his lower lip harshly to hold back his cry as flames licked up his veins, blood boiling and skin flushed in the heat of it. Pre-cum formed at the tip of his twitching dick. He wanted it and he wanted it bad.

"You're beautiful." France pulled his fingers out to kiss England while deeply thrusting into him.

For all the compliments in the world England was just happy to finally be filled. Against France's lips he gasped at the sudden full on penetration. Then he moaned passionately and impaled himself on him to put France balls deep, using his feet pressed against the dashboard at either side of French hips as leverage. He had experienced more lube use though. In punishment for giving him that stinging pain England nipped the lip over his.

France hissed and pinched England's nipple in response, quickly building a strong rhythm, hitting deep and hard with each thrust. Their lips disconnected to allow England to drop his head back and give his proper sounds of pleasure. His arms around France's neck pressed him close against his torso and thus successfully creating a wonderful friction against his own cock between their two bodies. "Fuck Francis," the Englishman gasped sensually, giving a shudder.

"That seems to be what we're doing," he chuckled breathlessly. Without England's lips against his, France occupied himself with sucking on England's ear lobe. Feeling him tremble, France held himself with a hand on the seat to work the other between them to pump England's erection in time with his thrusts. Breaths grew heavy and quick as England felt himself come close. Between bucking into his hold and pressing down against him England watched France with his fogged green eyes, his face and his body the only thing in the world. And when France met his eyes and smiled as he pushed into him, moving his hand in sync, England saw something in his eyes, his smile, he'd never seen before. There was a softness. An emotion more than the lust and desire in the middle of sex. But then the connection was lost as France captured his lips

As much as England wanted to fight him back, desperate to see that emotion in France once more, at this point it wasn't an option. When his prostate was being pressed so expertly and with such force he couldn't even think or fell past the extravagant sensations of ecstasy there at the height of sex. In his gut that fire suddenly tightened as did his breath before he burst in a flaming fury, lights dancing in his vision, and gave a cry into those lips as he climaxed. It didn't take long for his tightened walls and writhing body to take France to his height with him. He rode out his orgasm to the last moment, then pulled England into him as he turned them over to lie on their sides.

As they lay there for the first few moments England took the time to catch his breath, panting as he clung to France in faint reminiscent shakes of his body. His forehead, pressed against the man's chest, was tickled somewhat by the chest hair on which it rested. England was so used to that feeling he found himself admitting that in France's arms he felt more at home than anywhere. It was a place that held comfort in its familiarity. A place he just wanted to melt into as he snuggled into the warm body. At his slow cooling from the overheat in intercourse he felt cold.

"Spend the night with me?" France whispered into England's hair after several minutes of silence.

And now England froze. His body became rigid. "You honestly want another go?"

France chuckled and nuzzled the unruly blond hair. "_Non_, I want to just spend the night with you."

Just spend the night? _Just spend the night_? After it ran cold England's blood warmed quickly and ran rampant in his cheeks. He pulled back to look up at France with a incredulously risen brow. "I would hope even you would be smart enough to not give away your plans of killing me with such obvious lies."

"I'm not lying or planning on killing you," France pouted.

"Of course you're not. Stop with the porkies." Oh hell no. He had to get home, and now. This was getting hard to deal with. England needed to go cool his brain in private! This urgency didn't come through in full in his actions, though he did pull away and begin gathering his discarded articles of clothing.

France sighed and smiled. "Well if you want to go..."

"Yes, I want to go. _Home_," England snapped.

"The doors are open," France mumbled. "You're free to go."

Having had to put himself in the backseat to get dressed - it was already hard enough getting dressed in a car, but sharing a seat in the front with another full grown man while doing so was impossible - England nodded as he buttoned his shirt. Maybe that had been a bit rude, especially after how he'd been treated. "Thank you for paying for the drinks," he gave in a hidden apology, words mumbled on his end as well as he climbed out of the car.

The moment he was home the man leaned back against the door and slid to the ground. Fuck why was the alcohol wearing off so quickly already?

"_Fuuuuuck_."

"You reek of sex and alcohol," Lily lectured, appearing right in front of him. Trust her to not allow him a moment of peace for self loathing.

"Lily, I really don't need this right now," the pitiful man moaned and curled into a ball on his side.

Lily crossed her arms and glared. "What did you do? You should write to Dr. Love."

"Not at this very moment." God his head hurt.

"Then go to bed. Do you want some tea?"

"No, thank you. I just want to get in bed."

You knew there was something _seriously_ wrong with him if England denied tea.

That, or the world was ending.

And really, who was England to argue such a notion? When he formed an English ball beneath his covers his head was pounding. And it wasn't just from the alcohol, even though that was the problem for the most part. But not all! As everything of the evening slowly sunk in the man flushed furiously and buried his face in his pillow.

They'd had sex in a _car_! Right there for anyone to see! So maybe he had parked in an alley and it was late with no one out. They still could have been seen! It was so bloody humiliating he could scream. He did scream! Damn France. Damn him and his making England like this.

Here he sighed. He couldn't very well blame France for his character flaws. England was just impulsive as hell. The man got through life acting on instinct, living in the moment. It certainly got him places in battle and politics. But it turned him up in really bad situations in the matters of the heart. Acting quickly on emotion didn't always end up well, as he'd learned. But how could he ever get it right? He got away with being brash in everything else because he _understood_ battle. When it came to his own emotions and those of others he was drawn a complete blank. He was just too much of an outcast in the beginning.

So he couldn't always pick the right words for every occasion. Nor could he always read into things as the passed in the same subject of feeling. It was a natural sort of punishment that he would thus always be bombarded with doubt the second he was alone following one of these puzzling situations.

How could he interpret the frog's actions? He'd certainly seemed interested enough in seeing him at the bar to begin conversation and interaction. A part of England would have assumed that when he was with his friends France would rather spend time with them than with his fuck buddy of an annoying enemy. Have just pretended to not see England sitting there alone and have himself a good old time with his fellow idiots. But he hadn't. He'd willingly stepped over and not only included England, but chose him over Prussia and Spain.

Course, that may very well have been for the sex. It probably was. Because that's all they ever did besides fight. It was depressing as hell. Especially now that he knew he loved him, though it remained a hard fact to admit. There was no way he could allow himself to take that look in those blue eyes for something with a deeper meaning than sexual need. Because really somewhere in him England didn't want his feelings to be reciprocated. That would involve France going after him and maybe eventually giving in and starting a relationship and that just couldn't happen!

Right? Right.

… England groaned into his cushion. Damn France. Damn him to hell. He was making England hope that maybe, just maybe, he loved him too.

The following morning, still under the influence of a raging headache and some serious soul searching, he made out a reply email to his love guru.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_I did as you requested. However, this time around I cannot say I am the bearer of good tidings. All I can say is when I was with him and his mates we chatted only a little before we ended up doing the monty. How I can read into that as anything more than typical friends with benefits sentiments I don't know._

_And honestly, now that I'm beginning to entertain the thoughts of _possibly _loving him, that hurts all the more._

_ Sincerely,_

_ King of Camelot_.'

Instead of another in depth reading like the man was some damn psychic was not what England received in his inbox within three hours.

_'King of Camelot,_

_What part of 'judge his reactions' translated into 'get drunk and have sex?' Mon Dieu. Amour, you need to _talk_ to him. It's not that difficult. I'm sure you can do it. Leave the conversation open for him to make moves of his own for you to figure out his feelings.  
_

_And don't drink,_

_Dr. Love.'_

But as usual, that was easier said than done.

A whole week and a half came and went after this suggestion, clue, _order_. Whatever you want to call it. To England it was almost the last, for he really did try. He did!

… Okay so he didn't. The Englishman always somehow made himself a silly excuse to not go to France and start up this supposed conversation. But let's be honest here. What kind of chat did you start up when you wanted to lead someone into revealing their feelings for you? England had no tact in these matters. He could be as civil as the next proper gentleman. Even as smooth when he put his mind to it! But again, that was in the subjects of day to day conversation and politics or cultured things of that nature. Definitely _not_ with love and affection and all of that.

It was infuriating to the short blond to say the least. That he had gotten so far personally but could make no headway with France himself. He was England! Once a massive empire on which the sun never set. And now he was falling because he just got too damn embarrassed at the mere thought of speaking to France.

Just... Just… _Fuck_! What was wrong with him? Like some sort of woman on her menstrual cycle he had a sudden propensity for chocolate along with the standard thirst for alcohol. And that's what landed him in a bar soon enough, even though he knew where it would lead him. Even though he'd been fighting it for a whole week and a half! Because at a point he was too pissed at himself to stand it. Too pissed at France. Too pissed at the world.

Just pissed enough to land himself in France's bed.

'_Dear Dr. Love,_

_ I know this will be my… Ninth message, and for that I am sorry…_'

**End of Chapter Six**

* * *

Wooo for end of flash back! For character exploring! Okay so maybe not so much of that… I'm annoyed at myself for the lack thereof, but hey :/ I don't want to sit here and rant when I'm still questioning my England abilities

_Oui, oui, nous savons_ = Yes, yes, we know

_Bon nuit mes amis_~ = Good night my friends~

porkies = lies (at least I think that's an English slang :/ I don't even remember where I got that)


	7. Omelettes and Muffins

I'm a bad person. Said I would update early for you luvvies... And then made you wait two weeks... Derpderp. I was gonna upload early. And then forgot. And then I was gonna upload yesterday (or was it Monday?) but then I couldn't remember which chapter it was I needed to upload and then I got distracted by YJ and forgot again... BUT I REMEMBERED NOW. IT'S HERE! I LOVE YOU GUYS, SWEAR! Which is why I'm reminded you, 100th reviewer gets a oneshot present from us of any pairing they want ;3 KEEP THAT IN MIND.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Omelettes and Muffins **

At first he was certain this was all a dream. France woke up with the glorious ache of an active night of love making, but for once he wasn't cold. Curled into his side was England. The one man who could tame the playboy French heart and capture it all to himself. The fiery idiot that was clueless to love and had been blinded for years by his giant eyebrows. And he had remained through the night and into the morning.

Surely it was a dream.

But no, the Brit grumbled and nuzzled France's chest, which was thudding with his ecstatic heart.

"_Je t'aime_," he whispered, hugging England close, content to fall back asleep with him in his arms.

His movements, however, had woken his sleeping beauty. With a soft moan of annoyance at being woken from one of the most peaceful slumbers he had ever experienced Arthur squeezed his lids ever tighter shut. Then he opened them slowly, blinking his vibrant green eyes with full lashes in a few squints to let himself adjust to the light pouring through a window. What time was it? Some ungodly hour no doubt. Way past the time any proper human being woke.

But then he looked up. And when he saw that sleeping face he decided it didn't matter at all. He was just too damn happy to care. He was held within these warm arms like something precious, something _loved_. And they were France's arms. England and only England.

It was damn annoying but there was nothing he could do. A giddy smile broke out on England's face as he tightened his arms around the man's body. He was so happy he could barely stand it. God he was like some school girl, acting like she was so madly in love!

But you know? Right about now he didn't give a damn. He just gave a contented sigh and snuggled France with a mumbled, "Good morning."

France peeked an eye open and all but melted at the sight of that smile. "_Bon matin mon amour_." He kissed England's smile and returned it with one of his own. "I hope I didn't wake you."

He'd been caught. And that realisation made England's face break into a bright red colour to contest his wide green eyes. Recovering, he closed his eyes and curled his head into that inviting chest. Arse, pretending to be asleep. "You did. And it was a bloody good sleep too." Despite the haughty, even bratty words, England opened one eye to grin.

"Oh I am very, oh so sorry." France pulled England closer to kiss him again, deeper this time. When he broke it, he kept their foreheads together as he whispered, "What would you like for breakfast, _cheri_?"

"Hmm," the Englishman thought aloud, eyes turning down as he did so, before in it occurring to him they were back upon France, "how would you fare with an omelette?"

"Better than you would," he teased with another kiss. France was about to get up and make said breakfast, when he paused, smiled, and kissed England again. "_Je t'aime_."

After narrowing his eyes in response to the stab at his cooking England had to give a roll of his eyes before he gave a kiss of his own. "I love you too, git."

The shout France gave held no discernible words, but the meaning was clear enough as he flung himself over England in an enthusiastic hug. "Say it again~"

Fuck, why was he such an idiot? England was still sore himself, and now he had a full grown Frenchman atop him. "Oaf, get off."

"But I might have heard wrong," France cooed, kissing England before he could reply.

When he broke their contact England furrowed his brows up at France. A blush again littered his cheeks. "I love you, alright?" He replied after releasing air through his nostrils in an irritated snort.

France smiled and kissed England one last time before prancing off to the kitchen. "Stay in bed! I'll bring breakfast to you, _cheri_!" He called behind him.

"Yeah yeah," England muttered as he slid out from under the covers. He had to be rebellious _somehow_. And it was bad enough to eat in bed, but he would not stand to do so in one that was so messy. With a huff he began righting the sheets. His face gained some tint as he remembered just what had done the damage.

'_When they had given his quasi-confession England had felt so empowered that he finally took on his role as the one that had come dressed for the show. Sure he knew France enjoyed it, but the only reason he'd done so in the first place was because he quite liked it himself. When they came upon France's bedroom England pushed him back onto the bed with a mischievous grin fit for a fairy that was a little more than playful. And with that he was upon the man, straddling him as he pulled his belt from the loops, bending over to press their lips together passionately in his work._

_ France's hands wandered down England's body and allowed him to have his fun until all of his clothes were gone. Time to test the act. Grinning, __England__ was suddenly on his back with __France__ nipping at his neck. The change in positioning got France a glare before a particularly hard nip bought him an English moan. In opposition to France England allowed his fingers to roam up the other man's body, grazing over his planes of muscle in appreciation. When he came upon his shoulders he followed them down to the hands that had been used to press England into the bed. One was moved by his grasping the wrist to his own trousers, giving a needy squirm._

_ "So desperate," France murmured, teasingly massaging the erect cock through England's clothes. To this England gave another moan, wanton. Fuck why couldn't he just take the pants off already? But where __England__ was desperate to begin, to have sex with their usual vigor, __France__ wanted to _make love_. He wanted to re-explore every bit of this man that was now _his_, body, mind, heart, all his. _

_He smiled and slowly began unbuttoning England's shirt, kissing each bit of newly exposed skin. "Francis." Crooning, __England__ shifted beneath him with a __flushed face__. This was not what he was used to at all. He wasn't quite sure what he thought about it either._

_France__ looked up and smiled with his eyes as his tongue languidly circled a pink nipple. Okay so he liked it. That was the only way to explain the sparks that France caused that made England's back arch. But damn did it make him want it even more. Breath hitching shortly, England again allowed his hands to graze over France's broad chest._

_But __England__ lost his moment of control as __France__ continued to explore his body. With his chest ravaged with affection, it was time to move on and pull England's pats down, kissing his pale thighs and cupping his balls teasingly. _Shit_ he knew how to turn England into a panting mess. The moment his genitals were touched his eyes widened then screwed shut as his heels dug into the mattress, legs moving back and forth slowly._

_The moment his trousers were completely gone is when he turned the tide yet again. As he kissed quivering legs France's arm was rubbed slowly by England in his need. The other, unaccounted limb, came across a tossed aside belt and stealthily moved it behind France's back just in time to catch the arm there. In pushing the other held arm behind him England quickly tied the wrists together to bind France. He grinned at him. "You won't be having all the fun, frog."_

_Nipping the tip of his nose, England rolled the blond over and onto his tied arms. This was going to be good. With his legs encasing France's hips England made painfully slow sensual grinds downward, mouth making a descent of suckles and nips down the centre of the body beneath starting at the throat to the base of the penis._

_France__ shuddered in delight and watched __England__ with bright eyes. Never had the __Englishman__ paid such attention to pleasure other than his own. "_Arthur_~ Cher, the lube is in the drawer if you're planning on stretching yourself."_

_"I know where it is," the man responded simply. My, he thought they were there already? Oh no. First England had to bring his lips to a nice French cock and give it the affections of his tongue._

_An airy groan was given in response as __France__ shuddered and his smile grew. "So cruel mon amour."_

_"I'm done being good," __England__ said in a smirk up at him from his position over his crotch. With that, he enveloped the rod and bobbed his head with a suckle._

_"When have you ever been good?" __France__ gasped, struggling to not buck into England's expert mouth._

_To that __England__ sucked harshly, eyes on France's face, laughing. Oh, he'd been good._

_"Arthur- Dieu-" __France__ winced and struggled against his bonds. "Don't be so wonderful at th-nng-is. You're bringing me too /close/."_

_That's what he'd wanted. Smirking, __England__ released him with a loud pop. In sitting up he wiped at his mouth and breathed after holding it. Then he leaned over him to kiss France. "If you want a show you'll have to sit up," as he shifted off of him to retrieve his pants._

_His pulse was fast but strong, making his cock throb and head ring. __France__ fought to keep his breathing level as he pushed himself up with his feet to lean against the head of the bed. He watched England was curious eyes, excited to see what the Brit had in mind._

_It turned out to be quite the... Show. From his trousers England produced his own lube. Standing on his knees the Brit let a liberal amount onto his fingers before he, without letting himself expect it, pushed two inside him and gasped. Sitting there he fingered himself with various moans and pants. Face flushed, tongue lolled from his mouth or licked his lips. Finally he turned and folded his knees beneath him to bend down over his legs. The hand continued its work in plain view for France. Into himself England thrusted his fingers, another hand stroking his cock, to produce for France a perfect symphony of the Brit's pleasured sounds._

_"It is a shame to the porn world you're mine," France purred, licking his lips. Goodness his erection was painful._

_Satisfied, England brought his torso up with a sheepish sort of smug smirk. That had been his point, hadn't it? To give France a show to tell him his eyes must be on England. No one else. Because if they strayed he would kick his ass. _

_"It's a shame to all those desperate wanks in the world you're mine," he whispered into France's ear as his arms came around his neck in his straddling the man, just barely letting the divining rod prod his opening. He kissed the cartilage, then moved back. Fingers reached down to hold the cock below him between them so that he could slowly, gently, bring himself upon it in a gradual motion of filling himself with France._

_Oh __England__ was heavenly. __France__ grinned and sent his hips up to close the last bit of space between them. Since England had made no move to untie him, France was delighted to watch the man ride him._

_Gaze had been downturned to heatedly watch they're coupling. In the sudden jolt of France England screwed his eyes shut and hissed before his deep passionate gasp. Back against his hands grasping France's knees he leaned and tilted his head behind him. God it felt so good. For a moment England did nothing but enjoy the feeling of being so completely whole. Then, however, he knew he had to get moving, doing so by leaning forward and using his knees to pull himself up off France, then impale onto him fully yet again._

_The process was painstaking, but England continued, bringing his arms around France's neck to pant and gasp as he nibbled the outside cartilage of his ear. __France__ wasn't able to contribute besides small jerks upwards, but was more than happy to take in the show. "Je t'aime," he purred, capturing England's lips lustfully._

_Between the sensations setting his skin on fire and the menstruations that kept him moving England was perspiring as he moaned into France. "Oh Lord Francis," he breathed heavily, "Francis."_

_France's only reply was a deep kiss as he pushed against England's downward impalement, determined to bring England to his climax before him. And it paid off. Whilst they kissed __England__ brought the hand not keeping him steady as it hung round France's neck to his dick to massage it before beginning to jack himself. At a sudden harsh jerk he had to break the connection of their lips with a __gasp for air__. There went the fireworks. In a cry and another thrust he shuddered, back curving when he reached his peak._

_France__ was seconds behind and desperately wished he had control of his arms to hug the shuddering Brit. "Je t'aime," he whispered as their breathing slowly returned to normal..._'

"Remembering last night?" France chuckled as he returned to his room with a tray of food, eyeing the slight stiffness to Arthur's cock and the dreamy look in his eyes.

A sharp inhale of breath accompanied England's return to the present and stared at France with a look of total mortification. He'd been standing there and fantasising the time it took France to cook? "N-No!"

"Of course not," France chuckled and sat next to his love. "I made more than an omelette if you don't mind~"

So he'd been lost in thought that long... Trying to force his blush down, England glanced over the presented meal. "Were you planning on enough food to last through the whole day?" It was insane. He was used to making a bowl of warm cereal and some coffee.

"I just wanted a special breakfast for you~"

"Wanted to show off your expertise," England mumbled in taking a sip from a mug of coffee. He still managed to know how he liked it...

"I only wanted to please you _cheri_~"

"You're such a bloody woman." He did, however, give him a quick kiss for the coffee. Then England was cutting himself a piece of omelette to stick in his mouth and savour.

"Perhaps I need to remind you of the truth?" France trailed his hand up England's bare leg.

A brow rose over at France. Then England cut another bite sized portion of his meal to shove it into France's mouth. "Maybe you should chew on it a while~"

France just moaned and fluttered his lashes as he enjoyed his cooking. Scowling, England shoved the idiot's side. Bastard, doing that to his own damn food. He had it every day! Wouldn't you think that'd make him tired of it? England angrily bit out of a muffin.

"Ahha~ _je t'aime aussi_!"

... Darn and now he was slipping and smiling a little. Hearing that so much, letting himself think he _meant_ it, England loved the sound of that phrase. Mumbling, he sipped his coffee.

France let the silence settle over them and just ate his breakfast in peace, going over the past few days of events in his mind. It was all so surreal.

It was equally as unbelievable to England. With the quiet he was left to his thoughts at least somewhat, though he was still aware of the others presence and thus couldn't allow himself to venture too deep. That would be when he was fully alone. Though he did note the almost comfortable silence between them. That was strange. Usually he felt an overloading urge to make some sort of nagging comment so as to flee any awkwardness that may be birthed in the spans of time. Now, though, he didn't feel that as much. He felt contented to halfway lean on France's side as he ate, enjoying the calm serenity while it lasted.

At a point, however, reality had to be addressed. "I'll help you with the dishes before I leave," he said as he stood from the bed.

"You don't have to leave," France replied, jumping to his feet with wide eyes. "Stay."

England rolled his eyes, though he did grin a little. "I have to get home. The plants need to be watered. There's work to be done."

Lips pursed, France shook his head and pulled some sweat pants from his drawer. Such a downer. Oh. Or maybe King of Camelot wanted to talk to Dr. Love. That would be wonderful...

A smile now graced his lips as he turned to England. "So, amour, how are we going to do this? It's not as if either of us can stay at the other's house."

Pulling his boxers up England stopped at that and turned to him with a risen brow, head down turned a little in an 'are you kidding me?' expression. "What, are you saying we should just go ahead and buy a house together?"

"_Non, non_," he chuckled and hugged England brightly. "We both have our responsibilities and are very independent, so neither of us would want to live at the others, but I want to see you all the time."

That... Was something England wasn't too sure about. He still had a few qualms about such things. But he wouldn't let it on now after everything had been so perfect, so he just rested his head against France's chest. "Let's think it over, hm? We'll come up with something eventually."

"_Oui_, suppose so~" With a chaste kiss, France gathered their dishes and pranced to the kitchen.

When he emerged after him England was dressed, save the coat and hat, both of which he laid over a chair in the living in making his way to the kitchen. Hopefully without the two articles no one would notice he was wearing a police uniform. He grumbled to himself as he dried the dishes France handed to him at the predicament he found himself in. Maybe he could just lie low on his way back.

With all the dishes away, France looked the grumbling blond over with a smirk. "Would you like some other clothes?"

And there was another incredulous brow. "I don't remember ever leaving anything here. And yours would be loose."

"So you'd rather walk home looking like an officer that had sex?"

"... Fine!" Huffing, England crossed his arms with a twitch of a thick brow. "Give me some damn clothes."

"_Oui_~" France was quick to retrieve some pants that had shrunk in the wash and a small tee. "This will last you for the trip and remind you of me, hm?"

"Yeah yeah." '_Because I never wear T-shirts_,' the man grumbled inwardly as he took the offered items and moved back to the bedroom to change.

"Where are you going!" France chided with a laugh. "Nothing I haven't seen before!"

"Doesn't mean I'm going to dress right there in your kitchen!" England shouted back, proper to the end.

"You're ridiculous!" France shouted back gleefully. So this was what cloud nine was like.

So this was what being an old couple felt like. "You're an ass!"

"But have yours!"

"That doesn't even make sense any, twit!"

"Oh it does~"

Second time into the world from the Frenchman's bedroom England had furrowed brows and crossed arms. Well, with his clothes in a grocery bag and wearing a T-shirt, he looked the part of a hobo in his opinion. He wanted to get home as fast as possible. "I'm off."

"Do I get something before you go?"

Already he was confident as hell. England held his nose in the air as he approached him, and in getting there tugged his cheek. Once he had him lowered, though, he kissed his lips.

He was grinning as he walked out. "Still an ass!"

"Love you too!" France called back, rubbing his sore cheek and chuckling. This was wonderful.

He was in love. England loved him back. They were finally in a relationship rather than the mess they were before. And best of all, he had a secret pass into the inner workings of England's complicated and confusing mind through Dr. Love.

Life was looking up.

And England couldn't have agreed more. When he reached home he was immediately sitting in his desk chair with his knees pulled up to his chest so he could bury his face into them in his effeminate squeals he so hated. But… Damn! Even in his wildest dreams that couldn't have turned out any better. All of his playfulness had been born from the utter high he had been riding the entire morning after waking in France's arms and feeling so _right_ about it.

Sighing, he rested his cheeks on his knees with a calmer smile now that he had gotten that out. Sure, he was already feeling some doubts, especially after what France had said pertaining to their living accommodations, but at this point it was overshadowed by his continued stay in heaven.

And who did he have to thank for this? He giddily booted up his computer and checked to see if Dr. Love was online.

It wasn't surprising, considering France had logged on the second England left, that Dr. Love was online and instantly IMed him.

**FrenchCock:** _Amour_! Where have you been? Has everything worked out?

Oh he had _no_ idea. With a grin England typed out a reply quick as lightening.

**KingofCamelot**: Yes! It went beautifully.

**FrenchCock: **Oh? Do tell me everything!

**KingofCamelot:** Well…

**KingofCamelot:** First I was nervous. Despite what you said I wasn't too sure how well a bloody stuffed animal would go over.

**KingofCamelot:** But I was proven wrong! As usual. Because you're always right.

**KingofCamelot:** I confessed, as did he and some… If I do say so myself, some nice sex occurred. I woke up to him and for the first time in years I was happy about it. A bit annoyingly so, he caught me looking like a damn lovesick school girl.

**KingofCamelot:** However! It was still brilliant. I'm wearing some of his clothes – I wasn't very interested in walking home in my outfit again… - and can't stop smelling the fabric.

It was France's turn to act like a giddy school girl. This was so wonderful! England was so adorable! Goodness it would be hard to not tease him about smelling his clothes later. But France _could_ share it with Spain and Prussia... Get them up to date with everything as well soon... But England, well, King of Camelot, first.

**FrenchCock:** _Mon Dieu_ that is splendid! I am so happy for you! Why did you leave so soon after though?

**KingofCamelot**: Work and caring for my pets. But also to tell you the news. I can't very well enjoy myself without thanking the man that assisted me.

**FrenchCock:** _Oh amour_! You are too kind!  
**FrenchCock:** My advice would have been useless if you had not built the courage to take action.

**KingofCamelot**: Ah, but would not have had said courage in the first place if I hadn't sorted through everything with your help.

**FrenchCock:** _Vraiment_~  
**FrenchCock:** So what now?

Now England had to pause and actually let himself frown. Damn this man. He always

knew how to get to the point, didn't he?

**KingofCamelot:** I really hate to return to my own damn concerns after such a success, but he certainly caught me off guard asking about what we should do in the matter of our living situations…

France frowned and stared at the reply in worry. Had it been too soon to bring it up?

Hopefully not...

**FrenchCock:** Well what is your opinion in the matter?

How was he supposed to explain this? Sighing, England began typing, and realized for the millionth time it was becoming easier to open up to Dr. Love about things he didn't reveal to anyone.

**KingofCamelot**: Frankly I would love to live with him. However, I also know myself well enough to be aware of the fact that if I'm not given my space I can go stark raving mad. I'm not sure I'm meant for cohabitation at all. I'd rather be apart in that way then ruin it all with my hermit tendencies.

**KingofCamelot**: He said we are both independent and he's right. We have our jobs that keep us busy and away at various distances for equally various periods of time. Mixed with my insecurities I'm not sure how it would work.

**KingofCamelot**: I fare well on my own because there's no one to piss me off and upset. I just don't do well with others for extended lengths of time.

Ah. He had expected as much. France smiled and shook his head. England never changed

on some things. But, he would _love_ to live with him? Never would France have guessed that, which brought the next chorus of giddy giggles as he typed.

**FrenchCock:** Then the best course of action is to ease into living arrangements that will work in the long run. Don't be afraid to share your insecurities when they start appearing, I'm sure Roses will do everything to make them go away.

**KingofCamelot:** I'd much rather learn how to deal with them on my own. I don't like putting my own problems onto anyone else, especially for those I care for. He shouldn't have to pick through my confusing mind.

Too late, France thought with a snicker.  
**FrenchCock:** You can't maintain a healthy relationship if you don't give him the chance to get into your mind.

Damn. It was so complicated. In sighing England leaned his head back over the top of his chair and brought a hand to his face. He wasn't sure he was ready for something like this. He groaned, second hand joining its twin. He'd _known_ this would happen. It had run through his mind when he was telling France that he cared about him. Eventually he would come to a point that the ramifications of this would become clear and have to be sorted out, and they would be things he did not particularly like. The man wasn't comfortable with living with someone else at all if it went past a week. Even at hotels he could escape to his room after meetings. But with someone he may just explode without any recharge time away from everything.

England sat up. Better time to fix it all than ever.

**KingofCamelot:** I suppose you're right…

**FrenchCock:** Just take it slow, work something out with him. Everything will be fine.

**KingofCamelot:** One can hope.

**FrenchCock:** And know~

**KingofCamelot:** You're pretty damn confident.

**FrenchCock: **It comes with the job~

England laughed at that one. This man was a riot in his own way.

**KingofCamelot:** Aren't you the funny man.

**FrenchCock:** _Oui, je sais_

**KingofCamelot:** I hope things are working out for you as well in the romantic business.

**FrenchCock:** Ah, yes, things are looking up, not to worry~

**KingofCamelot: **Really? My word, congratulations are in order!

**FrenchCock: **Oh that's not necessary. _Merci_ though.

After looking to the digital clock in the corner of his screen England replied,

**KingofCamelot:** It's about time I got to the plants. I can't thank you enough for your help, Sir.

Then he was logged off.

France chuckled and stared at their conversation for quite some time before closing his

laptop.

Everything was perfect.

And by mid afternoon, it could only get better. Twirling the coiled cord of his telephone – while it was modern and had caller ID, England so loved keeping as close to the classics as possible – the Brit waited as France's phone rang with bated breath. After a seemingly endless wait, France's voice filled the receiver. "_Bonjour mon amour_~ miss me already?"

England rolled his eyes. And he smiled a little. "Oh yes. I've been wasting away all day without you, frog," he quipped.

"I can only imagine!"

"You're _hilarious_," England drawled, then paused before he went on. His face turned a shade of pink. "So, I was thinking... It's only proper that I extend an invitation after last night, so I thought maybe you could spend tonight here. U-Unless you have things, of course! We said we couldn't go against our responsibilities."

"_Non_~ I am completely free for you tonight!" France smiled brightly. "But can we establish _now_ that I'm cooking for us whenever I come over?"

After his sigh of relief England scoffed. "I suppose it goes without saying now."

"_Oui_. I'll be there soon. _Je t'aime_~"

"Alright. Be careful on your way... Love you."

Those simple words sent thrills through France's body. He would never tire of hearing England say that.

"Bye." Hanging up after this parting, England looked down at himself... Then hurriedly went to his bedroom to change clothes.

France arrived not too long after, practically glowing. He greeted England with a passionate kiss the second the door opened. "You changed out of my clothes," he observed with a small pout.

"T-shirts make me uncomfortable," England shrugged. That said, he did have them stored away for his own pleasure.

"How unfortunate." France kissed him again and smiled. "Miss me?"

Again with the rolling of the eyes. "I said I did, didn't I?"

"But I love hearing it~"

"Bloody bird..."

"_Your_ bloody bird."

That's what made England stop and feel an immediate joy go through him. The knowledge that France was his. That his eyes were only on him. The statement earned France a kiss. Which he gladly deepened as he pulled England into him by his grip on his firm butt and nibbled his bottom lip. Arms came up to bury their hands in luscious French locks as England all too willingly parted his lips.

But the kiss didn't last long. France pulled away and winked. "Let's not have dessert before dinner."

But they'd been kissing. In _his_ house. They were always at France's when they did! Various things like this ran through England's mind as he pouted somewhat, feeling gipped. Then something else occurred to him that made him shrug. "If the woman's so anxious to get into the kitchen, fine." He pulled himself from France's arms to saunter away to his living room. "I'll be watching the telly."

France chuckled and shook his head. Always had to be on the higher grounds. But that _was_ what he loved about the island nation. Still floating in the clouds, France made himself at home in England's kitchen.

His love, on the other hand, was far from comfortable. While the news played on his screen England sat with his feet pulled onto the sofa, something he really hated, and hands tightly clasped in his lap as he stared down at them. Here came the insecurities. Was it only right that they had sex in his bed now too? Just the day after? Or would that make it seem like it was all sex even in this kind of relationship? If France started something should he deny him? If he didn't should England start it?

Legs moved out from under him to stretch out before him as he slouched and ran hands through his messy hair with a groan. Why was everything so damn complicated in relationships? He had an easier time picking around his machines!

"Tired?" Several shows later, France joined him on the couch with their meal of salad and seared tuna.

'_Yeah,_' England thought ruefully in taking the offered bowl, '_enough to actually eat on my sofa like some American._' "Why, are you?"

"Mmm a bit." France kissed his cheek and poured them each a glass of wine. "But being with you is rejuvenating my energy~"

Always with the wine. "Lucky you." So used to lemon water or tea with his dinner, and now having to eat without a table in front of him, England gingerly sipped his glass before cautiously set it on the side table.

"Did you wear yourself out last night?" France cooed, nuzzling England's cheek.

Flushing, England leaned away from France and further buried himself into the arm of his end of the sofa. "No!"

"Don't need to be ashamed," France chuckled.

No need to be ashamed of tiring yourself out with the Country of Love as your lover? Yeah, what a load that was. Especially when you were known for a sex drive yourself. Mumbling, England just ate his salad.

"So adorable," France cooed with a wink as he picked up his dinner.

"So _French_," the Brit shot back.

"That's an insult?"

"To most people it is."

"So cruel~"

France only got an English tongue sticking out at him for that one.

"Love you too~"

By the time they were finished with their meal England didn't much feel like getting up yet. He was, however, having one of his cold spells. If he wanted to lean on France did he ask? Just do it? What? At a point the man finally gave up and flopped back onto France's shoulder, back to him, with his eyes on the TV in a blush.

To England's delight, France said nothing and just smiled as he shifted slightly to wrap his arm around England's shoulder and pull him against his chest.

Maybe he was being too forward too soon, but England was just so fascinated at their ability to do such normal couple things. And with his face turned away from him he could admit to himself that he quite liked the feeling of snuggling, at least he did on the high he was riding right now. It was something other than sex, something normal people did in a relationship. So with a soft smile he burrowed down a little deeper into the couch to male himself comfortable against France, bringing a hand up to interlace the fingers with the hand he had around him. For once being impulsive in all this romance business ended up in a pleasing situation, even if he was a little embarrassed at his actions.

**End of Chapter Seven**

* * *

D'awwww, aren't they sweet together?

…

Oh God, it's all wrong, wrong sweet Iggy! D8 I don't even know anymore! DX *facedeskfacedesk* *stillhasIggyinsecurities*

_Je t'aime_ = I love you

_Bon matin mon amour_ = Good morning, my love

_Dieu _= God

_je t'aime aussi_! = I love you also!

_Vraiment_ = True

_je sais_ = I know


	8. French Approved Tea

Hey there guys. Go here on both ends of this spiel xD Um... Yeah. We're really sorry about this sudden hiatus on here. On, well, all of our Hetalia fics. Things have come up for both of us. And well, whether we do continue or not, you deserve this chapter we've had done for months.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: French Approved Tea**

"Lily, please concur with my hypothesis that I have gone mad so I may have proper cause to visit the doctor and have my head examined."

It had started, really started. All of those preordained regrets had been dumped upon England with such force that on the brink of his impending doom the man was left to quiver in his office chair at the prospects before him, so perfectly obscured by the abyss before him.

Okay, so maybe he was being over dramatic, something thoroughly humiliating as such things were the tasks better assigned to France. But that did not change his fear! He was about to spend a matter of days with _France_. In _his_ house. _As a couple_. What had been going through his head? They would kill each other! He hated France!

Wait, no, he loved him. England was in love with France!

But he still hated him...

"Fuck," an English forehead met the cool wood of his desk.

Lily giggled and patted her friend's cheek comfortingly. "Hun, just be happy you get to spend time with him as a couple so soon! If he wasn't here, wouldn't you be worrying yourself to death thinking about what he's doing?"

Just as begrudging as he was to admit that he couldn't rightfully say he hated France anymore, England was quiet before he gave a grumbled, "Perhaps..."

"Oh poo, you know I'm right!" She flew around his head and giggled. "Just relax and let him pamper you!"

"I am going to be the first to implode of utter embarrassment."

"Shush you!" Lily bopped his nose and flew up to the window. "Everything will be fine!"

Just as she left, France entered the study with just a towel around his waist, hair dripping and skin shimmering. "I still wish you joined me, I had a nice shower," he purred, crossing the room to join England at the desk.

Peering up at him, England fought the heat in his face and gave him a scowl with furrowed brows. "You're already making it a point to ruin my carpet by not drying properly?" He ignored the statement. Seeing France, a part of him was wishing the same thing.

Chuckling, France pulled his towel off his waist to dry his hair. "Better?" He smirked, holding the towel over his shoulder.

Blush betraying him, England forced his gaze away. "You have no shame."

France just smiled and leaned in to England's face. "Why should I be modest before _mon amour_?"

"Because you look like a bloody male prostitute standing in my office," England huffed.

"Who else is there to see?" He asked, taking England's chin to turn his head to him.

Flinching, the blond flushed ever more in his forcing himself to keep his narrowed green eyes on France's face and remain seated in his casual sort of crosses armed confidence. Internally, though, he was going crazy. Damn France and making him address this. "My fairy friends do exist. And even if they didn't, it's still disturbing."

Giggles from hidden fairies were unheard by a smirking France, but only proved to make England blush even more.

"_Mon amour_, even if they did exist, I'm sure they would enjoy the view."

More giggles.

"No they would not!" There went any delusions of calmness. England growled and brought his hands up to fumble in getting France's out from under his face. "They're fine, upstanding women! And you shouldn't be showing yourself so willingly if you think they can see!"

"Oh! _Je suis désolé_~" France wrapped the towel around his waist again with a wink. "I forgot how possessive you were."

"I'm not fucking-Why should I let others see _my_ goods?"

"Good question," France purred as he pulled England into him and a kiss. "_Monsieur_ Possessive."

"So all your teasing means I have a right to walk around showing myself as you do?" England mumbled in a hidden prod, eyes turning away. He did allow the close proximity, however.

"Even if I said I wouldn't mind," France nuzzled him with a smug smile. "You would never do it, so I have no reason to worry."

The rising tension in the little Brit reached a peak at this. With a shove he had France off and away from him so he could exit the room, "I need tea," as his excuse.

"You always need tea!" He teased and skipped after the grumpy man.

"_Especially_ around you."

"No, I believe there's more alcohol than tea when I'm around~"

"Alcohol makes me need even more tea." Because that made sex happen. Or made the want for it to happen. And in the consequent emotions and at times exhaustion England required more tea. The truth annoyed him as he started the water boiling.

England's foul mood did nothing to dampen France's shining disposition as he sat at the kitchen table, head cupped in hands to watch England happily. At a point even the self-centered England noticed something outside his wall of internal strife though. When he saw France staring he narrowed his eyes before turning his back to him again. "Do you have to watch me?"

"Don't you remember? Watching you is endless fun~"

"I would know if I was constantly telling jokes or doing anything of an entertainment value."

France laughed and eyed England's ass as he went about the kitchen to prepare his tea. "Oh it's not that kind of entertainment, _cheri_."

"... You're a sex crazed animal."

"I'm offended!" France gasped dramatically. "I simply appreciate beauty!"

To that was no words, simply a roll of the eyes. Again with talking about England like he was some model of a woman. The masculine part of England was annoyed. The romantic part was embarrassedly giddy in the flattery.

"May I have some of your tea as well?" France asked suddenly.

Now that, that got him more of a response. The surprise was apparent on England's face when he turned to blink. "What?" He asked dumbly.

Shrugging nonchalantly, France smiled and replied, "You're always making such a big deal about it, but I don't believe I've ever given a brew of yours a chance."

"Because you're an ignorant simpleton." Even in this insult England was smiling himself at the prospect. Maybe he could convert France to the wonders of English tea so the man would stop his jokes. And, maybe, give them that small thing to share.

When he opened the cabinet to retrieve another cup, a beaming fairy sat inside the closest china and giggle at England's wide eyes. "Isn't this working out adorably?" However, she received nothing more than a faint glare and turning up of the Brit's nose after the initial shock, then the door closed after he'd retrieved another cup into which the man could pour the chamomile tea to then be presented to France.

France sniffed the tea and smiled when a pleasing smell filled his senses. No longer hesitant about the state of his health, he took a dainty sip and sighed. Oh this was nice tea. "So?" England prodded expectantly, yet to drink from his own as he leaned back against the counter in waiting.

"I owe you an apology~" France took a deeper drink and chuckled. "Not everything edible you touch is biohazardous."

"Sorry to disappoint you." Almost purring himself, England smiled in a mixture of haughty smugness and excited delight. After being so pouty the joy made his expression blinding as he drank from his French approved soothing tea. And France couldn't even be sour at the Brit's victory. He looked so adorable when smiling like that. Why had it taken him so long to realize that?

"So are you going to get dressed, or just go about like that all day?" England finally inquired after a bit of calm silence.

"Are you expecting company?"

"Did you honestly go partial nudist like everyone is saying you did?" Came an English drawl with a cynically risen brow.

"I'll get dressed," France laughed. He finished his tea, gave England a quick kiss, and left to England's room to change.

Just as England was allowing himself a smile and the pouring of a second cup of tea he was startled by a sudden rush of air at the nape of his neck. In his yelp the china in his hand fell to the floor and shattered. "Fuck it Francis, you better pay-!" But when he turned to glare at the Frenchman, it was not him that was there. Rather someone he very much did not want to see. Ever.

It should mean something when England was more wary of this man's presence than that of France. Grinning down at the shorter blond, Scotland again removed the short stub of a cigarette from his lips to lean forward and blow a puff of smoke in his brother's face. "What was that?"

"What are you doing here?" The blond nation exclaimed, paling considerably.

Tallest out of the bunch, big brother Scotland boasted the family trait of the thick brows that matched his flaming red hair parted at the center with a devil-may-care tussled look. Despite this he had the knack for dressing well like England, wearing a tan vest over a white dress shirt with elbow-length sleeves and a loose brown tie, pants matching the vest in color and fabric.

"To visit the brat playing house, of course!"

"Not you too!" England groaned, already glancing about to make sure everything was in place as Wales entered the room. This one was more England's height, actually the _exact_ same. In body type they were also extremely similar, only difference between them being Wales' shaggier, wavier locks that everyone so enjoyed to liken to the sheep he was rumored to shag.

Suddenly a beaming boy with bright orange hair and freckled cheeks pushed through Wales and Scotland. Northern Ireland laughed and grinned at his older brother. "Can't believe ye finally got with the stupid frog! Caitlan said she hopes maybe he can make ye see the light and convert to Catholicism. I said she was mental 'cause ye hate it, but I'm still happy for ye!"

"Well at least _someone_ is," England murmured in a grumble.

"Why the hell would we be 'appy? He's even more of a wimp!"

Glaring, England bent down to begin picking up the remains of his teacup. To Wales he gave a snarky, "go shag a sheep," in doing so.

"Hey!"

"Let him alone, he lost what brain he had." At Scotland's words England received a cigarette bud to the wrist at the expert aim of his brother. The blond only winced. He'd gotten used to these small burns over the years.

"Oh guys lay off Iggy, he can be happy with a frog! Not like he could get much better!"

"Oh _wonderful_, the family is here!" France entered the room with a forced smiled.  
Northern Ireland looked over to the blond and his own smile grew even larger. "Oh look! The low standards is here finally! And dressed. I'm shocked."

"Oh good, we don't have to watch the bitch go into heat." At the look of mortification from England in response to this, Scotland merely grinned.

Northern Ireland flopped into a chair at the table and cocked his head, then burst into laughter."Oh- Haha! I get it! He looks like a girl so he's a bitch!"

"_Mon Dieu_," France sighed and glanced to England sympathetically. To think the blond had to deal with these three regularly. "So much for a nice peaceful day together, hm?"

The returned green tinted gaze was apologetic. "I'm sorry, Fran-"

"Oh wow, this cup actually looked pretty damn fine. Maybe Scot shouldn't've-"

"Don't start stealing my things again!" With a growl England took the shard from Wales. When it cut into his hand he only glared more as he tossed it all into the rubbish.

"Hey, your hand numb from all your fucking? Ya got a cut there," the local Scotsman pointed out with a gesture of his newly lit fag.

"Hey frog! Frog! You should kiss it better like a good boyfriend!" The ginger cackled and clapped his hands in his excitement.

"Perhaps you should sober up," France growled with a glare, which only made Northern Ireland quiet down to giddy giggles. With a sigh, France rolled his eyes and joined England's side to inspect the cut. "It's not that bad."

Now his gaze was glued to the floor and his jaw winded tight when England spoke in a nod. "I've survived worse."

"So where's Cait, Pat? I was so ready t'see them fight." Sitting beside his brother, Scotland rose a brow at him.

"Oh ye know Caitlan! She can't stand the guy long enough to be civil in his house! I asked her to come along," he laughed again and shrugged. "But she gave me one of those looks she gives that make ye feel like an idiot, so I didn't press the issue!"

"We can just leave if you want," France muttered quietly so the rambunctious United Kingdom brothers didn't hear him.

"I'd rather not come back to find my house in shambles..."

"Pssst, they're talking all hushed. How cute~" 'Whispered' Wales to the two at the table.

Northern Ireland was on his feet instantly to stuff his head between the two blonds, smiling as always. "Well 'ello there! It's not fair to keep yer wonderful brothers out of the conversation, Iggs!"

So much for things going well, huh? And England had actually been a little hopeful with Lily's worlds, now here he was scowling and pushing away his brother. "Do I have to beat you lot on the grass before you will leave like last time?"

"Only because they're the only balls you own." Again the end of a lit tube was used as a pointer, this time in France's direction to emphasis Scotland's words. "Better take care of the ones you haven't lost to your big man over there."

Before England could get angry and Northern Ireland could pierce their ears with more laughter, France snorted and smirked at the smug Scott. "The day Arthur becomes my bitch is the day you become an independent nation."

"Yer just pissed because no matter how much you shove your dick in his used ass I'll be more connected to him than you'll ever be," came the snide return, confidence unfailing.

"Oh?" France wasn't about to back down. He pulled England into his arms and smiled. "I don't believe physical connections hold priority over connections of the heart. He will never love you."

Between the expectant Wales and Northern Ireland that had been watching this war of words like a good football game and the flabbergasted Scotland and England, France's statement received the initial response of nil. The first was frozen at such brazen romanticism, the second too touched and caught in the momentary shock of it. Finally, the two recovered. At the same moment.

"You're being fucked by _this_ bleeding heart? What kind of man are you?" Scotland chortled at England while said male squirmed in the French hold, taking the abuse as he always did.

... But there, England could fight back in some manner. "One that doesn't wear skirts and hit balls with a stick to remind myself of what _should_ be between my legs."

"Ooooh burn!" Northern Ireland yelled, his laughter from France's statement only growing louder with England's insult. "He got ye there!"

"Finally a showing of some sort of intelligence," said Scotland simply.

"If you had some, you three would be leaving," France grumbled, mostly to himself.

And his blond love couldn't have agreed more. "Honestly, isn't there something better for you all to be doing?"

"Caitlan got mad at me last night and won't let me play!" Northern Ireland whined, lips pursed in his energetic pouting. "This is all the fun I'm going to get today!"

"There aren't any good games on the telly," gave Wales in his shrugged explanation.

Northern Ireland gasped and clapped. "Hey let's play against the frog and Iggs!"

"What?" Oh hell no. England caught himself choking on _air_ as he'd breathed while hearing such a suggestion. "Francis doesn't play rugby! And besides, that'd be three against two."

"All the more the reason to play!"

"Why not call your other fuck buddy? Alfred?" The suggestion of Scotland got the rise he'd wanted out of England.

"Fine! Three against two!"

"_Dieu_ I will regret agreeing to this..."

* * *

Onto his couch England collapsed in the mid-afternoon of that day. Rugby was a sport meant to be played by full on teams. Small groups were murder. Especially against his brothers.

"Never again," France groaned as he fell back onto the cushions next to his love. "Your brothers are devil incarnates."

"What a discovery." Always, always they'd been awful to him. England couldn't once recall being treated well by his siblings. Not even with the compassion of familial love, but with the respect of a fellow human being. "Bastards the lot of them."

"Something we can agree on," France mumbled as he lay down and rested his head in England's lap.

At this England winced, feeling bad for bringing France into his family issues. And having him fight with a bunch of rowdy, violent men in a game of _rugby_. "I'm sorry," the Englishman softly apologized, laying his hand flat against the side of France's hair to gently work out a knot that had formed in the wrestling.

To this France just chuckled. "_Mon amour_, don't apologize. It isn't your fault."

"I should have known, though. That they'd find out so quickly."

"I'm surprised Alfred hasn't stopped by yet."

"He's nowhere near as insightful as they are in their own rights," England scoffed.

"Hm, true enough." France yawned and peeked his eyes open at England. "Let's shower and take a nap?"

"A bath sounds nice actually..."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea~"

"Just don't start anything," the man mumbled with a soft tugging of a French ear.

"_Amour_," he sighed with a small smile. "I am much too exhausted no matter how much I would want to make love with you."

"Just making sure." If he wasn't so tired England may have put up more of a fight. Now he just shifted on the couch in straightening his body. England poked France's ear, "Alright, up you go."

"_Angleterre_ should carry me~" France cooed.

"Oh hell no. I played harder than you did. Up."

"So cruel~" France chuckled and slowly got to his feet, wincing as he moved his shoulder. "I'm going to have many bruises."

"You and me both." But really, England was far too used to exhaustion and pain from the game of rugby to show much of his lack of energy besides his slow movements and half lidded eyes as he filled his tub and began peeling off his clothes.

France beat him in getting naked and getting in the tub. He sighed deeply as the warm water caressed his sore muscles. "Just what I needed."

"That's what happens when you decide to play with our group." Slipping in, England gave his own contented sigh in his immersion within the liquid. Back against the end opposite France, he slouched somewhat to the point his mouth was just above the water level. "You could have just said no."

"That would have gone just as well," he laughed, shaking his head.

"Yeah." Sleepy, England hardly even responded. He just stared into the water.

"Do you need help getting washed~?"

"Are you offering to clean me?" Raising a brow, England brought his eyes up at that.

France smiled and slid closer. "I can be if that's what you want."

Mumbling, England shifted his body and looked away with an almost pout. "Fine, but then it's only right that I do you."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that." Chuckling, France pulled England into him and kissed his cheek.

Some awkwardness crept past his lethargy, enough to make him blush and look away. Otherwise England was quiet. Normally he would make some sort of fuss. "Get on with it then."

"Aren't you adorable?" Kissing his cheek again, France grabbed the soap on the side of the tub and tackled the caked on dirt.

England grimaced. "I'm sure the drain will be adorable after this. It will be a nightmare to clean."

"Can't you 'magic' it clean?" France teased, working down his torso.

England rolled his eyes. Simpleton. "There isn't a drain cleaning spell."

"Why not? It would be logical."

"Magic is ancient. They didn't have drains then, so of course they wouldn't have a spell for it."

"There's set spells to do things?" France snorted and rolled his eyes. "That would be really stupid if it was real. Couldn't you combine things to make it more practical in present day?"

"You don't mess with things of that magnitude. Believe me, I've tried. It doesn't work."

"Well that's rather pointless." Turning England around, France kissed him with a chuckle. "Feel cleaner now?"

Annoyed at the man's dismissal of something near to his life's work, England merely glared at France. Then he leaned in to return the kiss with his own. "Shut up and let me do my part so we can sleep," in his taking the soap.

Holding it arms out from his sides, France smiled at his feisty Brit. "Have at me."

Such precociousness earned France a tugging if his nose. Somehow he managed to keep that completely unharmed in all of the contact. Otherwise he was littered with bruises, so England made an attempt at being gentle, but that didn't stop France from wincing. He was not used to being so beat up during a time of peace. Yes, football was a contact sport, but goodness it was nothing compared to the devil sport of rugby. It didn't help their opponents made it their goal to abuse them. France had never fully comprehended how awful England's brothers were before now.

"How ever did you grow up with them?" He asked quietly.

This gave England reason to pause. His hand came to a stop in its movements momentarily. Then after his short silence the man shrugged. His eyes followed the line of the soap as it worked off the muck in his speaking. "Why do you think I never took off my cloak? It made it easy to hide from them when I already tried to keep to myself for the most part."

Guilt weighed on France's heart as he stared at England. He hadn't meant to upset him. Smiling, France reached up and ran his thumb over one of England's eyebrows. "Here I thought you were just trying to hide your bushy brows by wearing it all the time."

The touch made England jump. There had been many a teasing tug over the years. In a glaring pout he poked his tongue from his lips and swatted the hand away. "It was also nice for sneaking up on you."

"And for hiding your attempts of copying me~" France sang with a laugh, eyes wandering around the edge of the tub for the conditioner. Wait. He groaned and looked to England with cold eyes. "I forgot. This is your house. You don't own any hair conditioner."

"Don't you get upset with me, woman." In his own glare England turned. He shifted to the very corner so he could reach into a cabinet and produce a bottle. "Especially when you're lucky. Alfred enjoys giving me loads of the stuff as a joke."

"_Mon Dieu_ my life is saved!" Grinning, France quickly massaged it through his hair, then washed it out. He glanced at England from the corner of his eye and his grin grew. Conditioner in hand, he pulled England into him and squirt a large pile of the cream onto his head. Before he could run away, France rubbed it in, laughing.

"What in God's name-?" The bastard! England squirmed and pushed back against France to get away. He wasn't a woman, he didn't need conditioner! "Quit it!"

"It's already in~" France laughed, pulling the plug out of the brain then turning the water on again to splash it a top England's head to get the conditioner out. "Now it will be healthy for a few days~"

"Healthy-? It's hair!" Damn Frenchman and his silky hair. A growl was emitted by England in his standing to get out in his huff.

"That you abuse," he mumbled, knowing it was a lost argument. But it definitely wasn't a lost battle.

France smiled as he stepped out of the tub and grabbed his towel, a plan formulating in his head. He was going to get some high quality conditioner for England's house and force it on him every time they bathed. England's hair was going to become luscious if it was the last thing he did.

"It's," England brought a towel around his waist, "_hair_!" God he could be annoying on the subject. In angry mumbles only made more agitated in his physical exhaustion England left for his bedroom then to make fast work of drying and dressing into something casual that he could wear when he slid into bed.

Not bothering to get dressed, France just made sure to thoroughly dry himself before he slipped under the covers next to England. "There's leftovers in the fridge for after out nap," he purred as he pulled England into his arms.

"Sounds good to me." The words came in a breath. Arms snaked around France's bare waist to snuggle into his chest as England sighed softly. Maybe he'd complain about France's lack of clothing when he woke up. Now he was just happy to be so warm and comfortable after everything.

"Thanks... For going against them."

"Being together means together in everything," he whispered with a soft kiss to England's forehead. "So let's sleep together now, _oui_?"

"Mmm." What sound of agreement he could manage came out in a hum as England nodded off.

**End of Chapter Eight**

* * *

I don't know if any of you have an idea of how much I LOVE Scotland. Dear Lord. This redheaded jackass. I. LOVE. HIM. We decided to include all of the UK siblings and I immediately wanted to play him, as well as Wales for my Welsh pride~ Issue is, Scotty, even as a fanmade char, has his own universal personality. Wales isn't as set in stone. So I took up searching for Welsh stereotypes and found the following: they have a thing for sheep, sing frequently with loud and horrible voices, _hate_ being confused with the English, have lots of humor, and are often thought to be pickpockets due to the English nursery rhyme Taffy the Welshman. Look it up. Oh, and he's named Llywelyn, a popular royal name in Wales. But since it's so feminine these days he prefers to be called Llyw xD And yes, that's pronounced Loo, and Llywelyn is Loo-el-in

Aaaanyway... Here's to hoping everything's been going well for you guys! ^^ I'm graduating high school Thursday~ And Haya passed her Junior year beautifully despite all her worries xD


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